MPEK A P iCi A A S lif  Cents  Eacli ^ 


C7\ 


Bottle, 

Drunkard’s  Doom. 
Aunt  Dinah’s  Pledge- 


M T I 

• . 11  ^ 1 Tern] 

1,  . ' 15  5 1 Friiii 


M S’ 

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Fruits  of  the  Wine  Clip,  • 6 


6 2 1 Drunkard’s  Warning,  [cj  6 8 


Xo.  XCVI. 

FRENOH’S  STANDARD  DRAMA. 


T H E 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


% (S^rjincbiJ, 


IN  FIVE  ACTS. 


BY  G-EORaE  OOLMAN,  THE  YOUNGER. 


WITH  THE  STAGE  BUSINESS,  OAST  OF  CHARAC- 
TERS, COSTUMES,  RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  &c. 


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No  XCVI. 


FRENCH’S  STANDARD  DRAM/ 


TH  E 

HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Qi  €omeiij5, 

IN  FIVE  ACTS. 


D\  OEOKGE  COLMAN,  THE  YOUNGER 


NFAV-YORK : 


SAMUEL  FRENCH, 

121  NASSAU-STREET. 


Mr.  Johnstcfl 
C.  Fishei 
Burtoi] 
Russeli 
Levere 
L.  Thompson 
Gourley 
Parsloe 
Mrs.  Hughe? 

Mrs.  Fisl 
Mrs.  Skerret 


DANIEL  DOWLAS Gkreeu  coat,  richly  embroidered ; flowered  waist 
coat,  silver  buttonholes ; salmon-colored  breeches ; white  sil' 
stockings ; shoes ; paste  buckles  • lace  ruffles  ; cornered  hat,  &c. 

DICK  DOWLAS: — Green  coat;  white  waistcoat;  light  breeches 
white  silk  stockings ; dress  shoes. 

HENRY  MORLAND  : — Black  frock  coat ; white  waistcoat ; blacl 
pantaloons ; black  silk  stockings,  pumps  and  hat. 

STEDFAST : — Dark  plain  suit ; boots,  hat  and  cane.  I 

DOCTOR  PANGLOSS  : — Black  velvet  coat,  with  glass  buttons  ; blac 
cloth  breeches ; silk  stockings ; shoes  and  buckles ; small  cane  ; 
ruffles ; three  cornered  hat. 

ZEKIEL  HOMESPUN Black  coat;  buff  waistcoat;  buckskii 
breeches ; striped  stockings , laced  boots. 

KENRICK:— Grey  (old  man’s)  coat;  plain  waistcoat;  green  baize 
breeches;  brown  stockings ; shoes;  old  man’s  round  hat. 

WAITERS: — Plain  blue  coat ; yellow  waistcoat  and  breeches;  whit 
stockings  and  shoes. 

LADY  DUBERLY  : — White  satin  petticoat ; lace  apron ; loose  pinl 
satin  gown,  ornamented,  short  sleeves ; old-fashioned  head-dress 
high-heeled  shoes. 

CAROLINE  DORMER  : — Dark  satin  Dody,  andleno  petticoat,  trim 
med  with  black  lace. 

CICELY  HOMESPUN : — Slate-colored  dress,  neatly  trimmed  will 
black ; straw  or  chip  hat,  with  black  ribbon ; striped  stockings 
and  black  shoes  ; small  black  handkerchief  round  her  neck. 


RELATIVE  POSITIONS 

R.  means  Right;  L.  Reft;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door 
S.  E.  Second  Entrance ; U.  E.  Upper  Entrance ; M.  D.  Middle  Dcof 
F.  the  Flat ; D.  F.  Door  in  Flat. 


CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 

(^Burton^s  Theatre^  Sept.  2,  1852.) 

, Lord  Duberly,  alias  Daniel  Dowlas^ 

Jj-  Dick  Dowlas y - - - - - 

; Dr.  Pangloss , L.  L.  D.  and  A.  S. 

: r^(  Mr.  Stec^ast,  - - - - - 

! ^ Henry  Morlaoid,  - - . . 

■ Zekiel  Homespun,  - - - . 

Kenrick,  - - Norton.  [ John, 

Waiter  at  the  Inn,  - - - . 

Lady  Duberly,  alias  Deborah  Dowlas, 

. 'Caroline  Dormer,  . - . . 

■ Cicely  Homespnn,  . - - . 


COSTUME. 


7 


REMARKS. 


Of  all  tne  plays  written  by  George  Colman,  the  ycunger,  there 
is  not  oce,  that  is  seen  with  greater  pleasure  or  affords  move  amuse- 
ment to  an  audience,  than  the  Heir  at  Law.  The  char  acters  of  Dr 
Pangloss,  Lord  and  Lady  Duberly,  Zekiel  Homespun,  and  Cicely, 
are  drawn  with  a truth  and  fidelity  to  nature,  not  to  be  .‘surpassed. 
The  manly  feeling  of  the  honest  countryman,  whose  ploughman’s 
fist  is  ready  at  all  hazards  to  vindicate  the  wrongs  of  his  sistor,  but 
in  the  next  moment,  receives  to  his  heart  that  repentant  trJend 
whose  head,  turned  by  sudden  good  fortune,  had  dared  to  attemp't 
his  sister’s  honor,  makes  Zekiel  Homespun  a pattern  of  an  honest 
farmer,  whom  all  admire,  while  they  despise  Dick  Dowlas,  the  Law- 
yer’s  Clerk,  and  the  Chandler’s  Son,  for  his  attempt  to  ape  the 
libertinism  of  nobility.  Then  the  unsophisticated  innocence  ot 
Cicely,  whose  love  is  not  to  be  shaken,  but  whose  principles  ol 
virtue  are  equally  strong— and  proof  against  all  the  false  allure- 
ments  of  wealth  and  fashion,  unaided  by  the  true  pledge  of  Love, 
the  Wedding  Ring,  carries  with  her  throughout  the  play  the 
sympathy  as  well  as  admiration  of  the  audience. 

The  ridiculous  attempt  of  the  uneducated  shopman  to  mend  his 
'‘^kdkolology^'*  by  the  purchase  of  a w hole  library  of  books,  written 
“ by  one  Tome,”  is  a source  of  great  amusement;  while  his  Lady 
wife  too  plays  a most  essential  part  in  the  “ dramatis  person©.” 
The  Pedagogue  and  Tutor  the  L.  L.  D.  and  A double  S,  whos-^ 
only  ambition  is  to  receive  his  pay — doubly^trebly — for  allowing 


EEMAKKS. 


all  parties  to  do  as  they  please,  so  that  he  be  allowed  to  pocke 
“just  nine  hundred  pounds  a year,”  although  not  to  be  met  in  rea 
life — is  a most  humurous  acquaintance  upon  the  stage — and  hi 
apt  quotations  prove  the  classical  knowledge  of  the  author.  Di 
Pangloss,  is  the  pivot  on  which  revolves  all  the  fun  of  the  play,  am 
the  ludicrous  positions  in  which  he  is  placed,  cause  the  sides  of  th 
audience  to  ache  with  laughter. 

These  five  parts  afford  scope  for  the  display  of  the  highest  comi 
talent,  the  style  of  each  being  so  different  that  the  actors  can  b 
seen  to  the  best  advantage — this  alone  always  makes  the  Heir  a 
Law  an  acceptable  play. 

It  is’  to  be  regretted  that  mawkish  sentimental  comedy  was  th 
fashion  of  the  Stage,  when  this  play  was  written,  forcing  the  autho 
to  make  suCvCess  certain,  to  introduce  the  very  insipid  underplot  i; 
which  Henry  Moreland,  Stedfast,  Kenrick,  and  Caroline  Dorme 
are  introd  need,  they  form  an  episode  necessary  only  to  bring  bac 
the  heir  'if  the  deceased  peer, and  thus  complete  the  “denouement 
— this  portion  of  the  play  as  now  acted,  has  been  judiciously  cm 
tai^:ed,  but  the  little  left  is  tiresome.  S’*  C,  W. 


THE 

HEIR  AT  LAW. 


ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — An  Apartment  in  Lord  Duberly’s  House. 

Lord  and  Lady  Duberly  discovered  at  breakfast. 

Lord  D.  But  what  does  it  matter,  my  lady,  'whether  I 
irink  my  tea  out  of  a cup  or  a saucer  ? 

: Lady  D.  A great  deal  in  the  polite  circles,  my  lord.  We 
iave  been  raised,  by  a strange  freak  of  fortune,  from  no- 
thing, as  a body  may  say ; and — 

I Lord  D.  Nothing!  as  reputable  a trade  as  any  in  all 
[xosport.  You  hold  a merchant  as  cheap  as  if  he  trotted 
ibout  with  all  his  property  in  a pack,  like  a pedlar. 

! Lady  JD.  A merchant,  indeed  1 curious  merchandize  you 
iealt  in,  truly  1 

Lord  D.  A large  assortment  of  articles : coal,  cloth,  her- 
dngs,  linen,  candles,  eggs,  sugar,  treacle,  tea,  bacon,  and 
brick-dust ; with  many  more,  too  tedious  to  mention,  in 
oh  is  here  advertisement. 


8 


KEIR  AT  LAW. 


Lady  D.  Well,  praise  the  bridge  that  carried  yoa  over , 
but  you  must  now  drop  the  tradesman,  and  learn  life. 
Consider,  by  the  strangest  accident,  you  have  been  raised 
to  neither  more  nor  less  than  a peer  of  the  realm. 

Lord  D,  Oh  ! ’twas  the  strangest  accident,  my  lady,  tha^ 
ever  happened  on  the  face  of  the  universal  yearth. 

Lady  D,  True,  ’twas  indeed  a windfall ; and  you  must 
now  walk,  talk,  eat  and  drink,  as^  becomes  your  station. 
’Tis  befit  a nobleman  should  behave  as  sich,  and  know  sum* 
mut  of  breeding. 

Lord  Z>.  Well,  but  I ha’nt  been  a noblem.an  more  nor  a 
week ; and  my  throat  isn’t  noble  enough  yet  to  be  proof 
against  scalding.  Hand  over  the  milk,  my  lady. 

Lady  D.  Hand  over  ! ah  ! what’s  bred  in  the  bone  will  | 
never  come  out  of  the  flesh,  my  lord.  j 

Lord  D.  Pshaw  ! here’s  a fuss,  indeed ! when  I w^as  plain  j 
Daniel  Dowlass,  of  Gosport,  I was  reckoned  as  cute  a dab  | 
at  discourse  as  any  in  town^  Nobody  found  fault  with  meA 
then. 

Lady  D.  But,  why  so  loud  ? I declare  the  servants  will 
hear.  | 

Lord  D.  Hear  ! and  what  will  they  hear  but  what  they! 
know  ? our  story  a secret ! lord  help  you  ! tell  ’em  queen  ] 
Anne’s  dead,  my  lady.  Don’t  everybody  know  old  Dubei;  *- 
ly  was  supposed  to  die  without  any  hair  to  his  estate — a s 
the  doctors  say,  of  an  implication  of  disorders ; and  that  : 
his  son  Henry  Mori  and,  was  lost,  some  time  ago,  in  the  salt 
sea  ? 

Lady  D,  Well,  there’s  no  occasion  to — ^ 

Lord  JD.  Don’t  everybody  know  that  lawyer  Perret,  of 
Purnival’s  Inn,  owed  the  legatees  a grudge,  and  popped  a ; 
bit  of  an  advertisement  into  the  news  ! — “ whereas  the  heir  ! ' 
at  law  if  there  be  any  reviving,  of  the  late  baron  Duberly,  I _ 
will  apply — so  and  so — he’ll  hear  of  summut  greatly  to  hisi 
advantage.” 

Lady  D,  But  ’why  bawl  it  to  the — j j 

Lord  D,  Did’nt  he  hunt  me  out,  to  prove  my  title  ? and  | 

lug  me  from  the  counter  to  clap  me  into  a coach  ? a house  | 

here  in  Hanover  Square,  and  an  estate  in  the  country, 

worth  fifteen  thousand  per  annum  ? why,  bless  you,  my  ^ 

1 1 
a 

i 


I 


HEIPc  AT  LAW. 


9 


lady,  every  little  black  devil,  with  a soot  bag,  cries  it  about 
the  streets,  as  often  as  he  says  sweep. 

Lady  D,  ’Tis  a pity  but  my  lord  had  left  you  some  man- 
ners with  his  money. 

Lord  D,  He  ! what  my  cousin  twenty  thousand  times 
removed  ? he  must  have  left  them  by  word  of  mouth. 
Never  spoke  to  him  but  once  in  all  my  born  life — upon  an 
erectioneering  matter : that’s  a time  when  most  of  your 
proud  folks  make  no  bones  of  tippling  with  a tallow-chand- 
ler, in  his  back  room,  on  a melting  day ; but  he  ! — except 
calling  me  cousin,  and  buying  a lot  of  damaged  huckaback, 
to  cut  into  kitchen  towels,  he  was  as  cold,  and  as  stiff  as  he 
is  now,  though  he  has  been  dead  and  buried  these  nine 
months,  rot  him  ! 

Lady  D.  There  again  now  ! rot  him  ! 

Lord  D,  Why,  blood  and  thunder ! what  is  a man  to  say 
when  he  wants  to  consecrate  his  old  stifif-rumped  relations  ? 

l^rings  the  belL 

Lady  T>,  Why,  an  oath  now  and  then  may  slip  in,  to 
garnish  genteel  conversation  : but  then  it  should  be  done 
with  an  air  to  one’s  equals,  and  with  a kind  of  careless  con- 
descension to  menials. 

Lord  D.  Should  it  ? w’ell  then — ^here,  John  ! 

Enter  John,  r. 

My  good  man,  take  away  the  tea,  and  be  damn’d  to  you. 

John,  ’i  es,  my  lord.  \^Exit^ 

Lady  D.  And  now,  my  lord,  I must  leave  you  for  th« 
concerns  of  the  day.  We  elegant  people  are  as  full  oi 
business  as  an  egg’s  full  of  meat. 

Lord  D.  Yes,  we  elegant  people  find  the  trade  of  the 
tone^  as  they  call  it,  plaguy  fatiguing.  What,  you  are  for 
the  ivis  a wis  this  morning  ? much  good  may  it  do  you,  my 
lady.  Damme  it  makes  me  sit  stuck  up,  and  squeezed  like 
a boar  in  a bathing  tub. 

• Lady  D.  I have  a hundred  places  to  call  at.  Folks  are 
io  civil  since  we  came  to  take  possession  ! there’s  dear  Lady 
Littlefigure,  Lord  Sponge,  Mrs.  Holdbank,  Lady  Betty 
, Pillory,  the  Jlon.  Mrs.  Cheatwell,  and — 

Lord  D.  Aye,  aye  : you  may  always  find  plenty  in  this 
rjhere  town  to  be  civil  to  fifteen  thousand  a year,  my  lady. 

1 


10 


liElR  AT  LAW. 


Lady  D,  Well,  there’s  no  learning  yoa  life.  I’m  sure 
they  are  as  kind  and  friendly ! the  supper  Lady  Betty  gave 
to  us,  and  a hundred  friends,  must  have  cost  her  fifty  good 
pounds,  if  it  cost  a brass  farden ; and  she  does  the  same 
thing  I’m  told  three  times  a week.  If  she  isn’t  monstrous 
rich,  I wonder,  for  my  part,  how  she  can  afford  it. 

Lord  D,  Why,  ecod,  my  lady,  that  would  have  puzzled 
me  too,  if  they  hadn’t  hooked  me  into  a damn’d  game  of 
cocking  and  punting  I think  they  call  it,  where  I lost  as 
much  in  half  a hour  as  would  keep  her  and  her  company  in 
fricasees  and  whip  sullibubs  for  a fortnight.  But  I may  be 
even  with  her  same  o’  these  a’ternoons!  Only  let  me  catch 
her  at  Put ; that’s  all. 

Enter  John  l. 

John.  Doctor  Pangloss  is  below,  my  lord. 

Lord  D,  Oddsbobs,  my  lady ! that’s  the  man  as  learna 
me  to  talk  English. 

. Lady  D,  Hush  ! consider — [pointing  to  John, 

Lord  D,  Hum  ! I forgot — curse  me,  my  honest  follow, 
shew  him  up  stairs,  d’ye  here,  {exit  John,  l.)  There,  was 
that  easy  ? I 

Lady  D,  Tolerable. 

Lord  D,  Well,  now,  get  along,  my  lady ; the  Doctor  and 
I must  be  snug.  { 

Lady  D.  Then  I bid  you  good  morning,  my  lord.  A?s 
lady  Betty  says,  I wish  you  a bon  repos,  [Exit^  r.  ? 

Lord  D,  A bon  repos  ! I don’t  know  how  it  is,  but 
women  are  more  cuter  at  these  here  matters,  nor  the  men.l 
My  wife,  as  every  body  may  see,  is  as  genteel  already  as  if 
she  had  been  born  a duchess.  This  Doctor  Pangloss  will  j 
do  me  a deal  of  good  in  the  way  of  fashioning  my  discourse  j 
So  here  he  is.  j 


Enter  Pangloss,  l. 

Doctor,  good  morning — ^I  wish  you  a bon  repos  ! take  a 
chair,  doctor. 

Pang,  Pardon  me,  my  lord  ; I am  not  inclined  to  be  se- 
dentary ; I wish,  with  permission,  erectos  ad  sideratollere 
vultus?'' — Ovid.  Hem  ! 

Lord  D,  Tollory  vultures ! I suppose  that  that  means 
you  had  rather  stand  ? 


HEIR  AX  LA'A^. 


il 


' Pang,  Fye,  this  is  a locomotive  morning  with  me.  Just 
nurried,  my  lord,  from  the  society  of  arts ; Vv^hence,  I may 
eay,  I have  borne  my  blushing  honors  thick  upon  me.” — 
Shakspeare.  Hem  ! 

Lord  D,  And  what  has  put  your  honors  to  the  blush 
this  morning,  doctor  ? 

Pang.  To  the  blush  ! a ludicrous  perversion  of  the  au- 
thor’s meaning — ^he,  he,  he  ! hem  ! j^ou  shall  hear,  my  lord, 

lend  me  your  ears.”  Shakspeare  again.  Hem  ! ’tis  not 
unknown  to  your  lordship,  and  the  no  less  literary  world, 
that  the  Caledonian  University  of  Aberdeen,  long  since 
conferred  upon  me  the  dignity  of  L.  L.  D. ; and,  as  I never 
beheld  that  erudite  body,  I may  safely  say  they  dubb’d 
me  with  a degree  from  sheer  considerations  of  my  cele- 
brity. 

Lord  D.  True. 

Pang.  For  nothing,  my  lord,  but  my  own  innate  modesty, 
could  suppose  that  Scotch  college  to  be  swayed  by  one 
pound  fifteen  shillings  and  three  pence  three  farthings,  paid 
on  receiving  ray  diploma  as  a handsome  compliment  to  the 
numerous  and  learned  head  of  that  seminary. 

Lord  D.  Oh,  damn  it,  no,  it  wasn’t  for  the  matter  of 
money. 

Pang.  I do  not  think  it  was  altogether  the  aiiri  sacra 
fumes.'^^ — Virgil.  Hem!  but  this  very  day,  my  lord,  at 
eleven  o’clock,  A.  M.,  the  society  of  arts,  in  consequence, 
as  they  were  pleased  to  say,  of  my  merits,  he,  he,  he  1 my 
merits.,  my  lord — ^have  admitted  me  as  an  unworthy  mem- 
ber ; and  I have  henceforward,  the  privilege  of  adding  to 
my  name  the  honorable  title  of  A double  S. 

Lord  D.  And  I make  no  doubt,  doctor,  but  you  have 
richly  deserved  it.  I warrant  a mail  doesn’t  get  A double 
S tack’d  to  his  name  for  nothing. 

Pang.  Decidedly  not,  my  lord.  Yes,  I am  now  artium 
societatis  socius.  My  two  last  publications  did  that  busi- 
ness. “ Exegi  monumentum  cere  pereniiins.'^'^  Horace. 

' Hem  1 

Lcn'd  D.  And  what  might  them  there  two  books  be 
I about,  doctor  ? 

; Pang.  The  first,  my  lord,  was  a plan  to  lull  the  restless 
i to  sleep,  by  an  infusion  of  opium  into  their  ears,  the  efficacy 
^ ot  this  method  originally  struck  me  in  St.  Stephen’s  chapefi 

f 


a OF  ILL  u& 


12 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


while  list  .^iiing  to  the  oratory  of  a worthy  counirj’'  gentle- 
man. 

Lord  D.  I wonder  it  wa’nt  hit  upon  before,  by  the  doc- 
tors. 

Fang.  Physicians,  my  lord,  put  their  patients  to  sleep  in 
another  manner.  He,  he,  he  ! ‘‘  to  die — ^to  sleep  ; no  more.” 
Shakspeare.  Hem  ! my  second  treatise  was  a proposal 
for  erecting  dove-houses,  on  a principle  tending  to  increase 
the  propagation  of  pigeons.  This,  I m.ay  affirm,  has  received 
considerable  countenance  from  many  who  move  in  the  cir- 
cles of  fashion.  Nec  geinere  cessabit  turturF  Virgil. 
Hem  ! I am  about  to  publish  a third  edition,  by  subscrip- 
tion. May  I have  the  honor  to  pop  your  lordship  down 
among  the  pigeons  ? 

Lord  D.  Aye,  aye ; down  with  me,  doctor. 

Pang.  My  lord,  I am  grateful.  I ever  insert  names  and 
titles  at  full  length.  AVhat  may  be  your  lordship’s  spon- 
Borial  and  patronymic  appellations  ? {taking  out  kis  pocket- 
book. 

Lord  D.  My  what  ? 

Pang.  I mean,  my  lord,  the  designations  given  to  you  by 
your  lordship’s  godfathers,  and  parents. 

Lord  D.  Oh  ! what,  my  Christian  and  surname  ? I was 
baptized  Daniel. 

Pang.  Abolens  baptismatc  lahem.'^'^  I forgot  where — 
QO  matter — ^hem  ! the  right  honorable  Daniel — {ivriting. 

Lord  D.  Dowlas. 

Pang.  {ivriting)J)o^N\di^ — ^ffilthy  Dow  !”  hem!  Shake- 
speare. The  right  honorable  Daniel  Dowlas,  baron  Duber 
ly.  And  now,  my  lord,  to  your  lesson  for  the  day.  [ They 
sit. 

Lord  D.  Now  for  H,  doctor.  ^ 

Pang.  The  process  which  we  are  now  upon,  is  to  eradij 
cate  that  blemish  in  your  lordship’s  language,  which  the|) 
learned  denominate  cacology^  and  which  the  vulgar  call| 
slip-slop.  \ 

Lord  D.  I’m  afraid,  doctor,  my  cakelology^  will  give  youi 
a tolerable  tight  job  on’t.  | 

Pang.  Nil  desperandum?"'  Horace,  hem  I we’ll  begdi 
in  the  old  way,  my  lord.  Talk  on ; when  you  stumble,  ll 
check.  Where  was  your  lordship  yesterday  evening  ? I 

Lord  D.  At  a concert.  I 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


^ 13 

Fang,  Umph  ! tete  a tete  with  lady  Duberly,  I presume. 

Lord  D,  Tete  a tete  with  five  hundred  people,  hearing 
of  music. 

Fang.  Oh  ! I conceive  : your  lordship  would  say  a con 
cert.  Mark  the  distinction  : a concert^  my  lord,  is  an  enter- 
tainment visited  by  fashionable  lovers  of  harmony.  Now  a 
consort  is  a wife  : little  conducive  to  harmony  in  fhe  present 
day ; and  seldom  visited  by  a man  of  fashion,  unless  she 
happens  to  be  his  friend’s  or  his  neighbor’s. 

Lord  D.  A devil  of  a difierence,  indeed ! betw^een  you 
and  I,  doctor,  (now  my  lady’s  out  of  hearing)  a wife  is  the 
devil. 

Pang.  He,  he,  he  ! there  are  plenty  of  Jobs  in  the  W’orld, 
my  lord. 

Lord  D.  And  a damned  sight  of  Jezebels,  too,  doctor. 
But  patience,  as  you  say — for  I never  gives  my  lady  no  bad 
language.  A¥henever  she  gets  in  her  tantrums,  and  talks 
high,  I ahvays  sits  mumchance. 

Fang.  “ So  spake  our  mother  Eve  and  Adam  heard.” 
Milton.  Hem ! {they  onse)  silence  is  most  secure,  my  lord, 
in  these  cases ; for  if  once  your  lordship  opened  your 
mouth,  ’tis  tv/enty  to  one  but  bad  language  would  follow. 

Lord  D.  Oh,  that’s  a sure  thing ; and  I never  liked  to 
disperse  the  w^omen. 

Fang,  As  perse. 

Lord  D.  Humph  ! there’s  another  stumble  ! after  all, 
doctor,  I shall  make  but  a poor  progress  in  my  vermicular  - 
tongue. 

Pang,  Your  knowledge,  of  our  native,  or  vernacular 
language,  my  lord,  time  and  industry  may  meliorate.  Ver- 
micular  is  an  epithet  seldom  applied  to  tongues,  but  in  the 
case  of  puppies  who  want  to  be  worm’d. 

liord  D.  Ecod,  then  I an’t  so  much  o\it,  doctor.  I’ve 
met  plenty  of  puppies  since  I came  to  town,  whose  tongues 
are  so  troublesome,  that  worming  might  chance  to  be  of  1 
service.  But,  doctor,  I’ve  a bit  of  a proposal  to  make  to 
you,  concerning  my  own  family. 

Fang.  Disclose,  my  lord. 

Lord  D,  Why,  you  must  know,  I expect  my  son,  Dicky, 
in  town  this  here  very  morning.  Now,  doctor,  if  you  would 


14 


THE  HEIR  AT  LAW. 


but  mend  this  cakelology,  mayhap  it  might  be  better  worth 
while  than  the  mending  of  mine. 

Pang,  I smell  a pupil ; {aside)  whence,  my  lord,  does 
the  young  gentleman  come  ? 

Ijyrd  D.  You  shall  hear  all  about  it.  You  know,  doc- 
tor, though  I’m  of  good  family  distraction — 

Pang,  Ex. 

Lord  D,  Though  I’m  of  a good  family  extraction,  ’twas 
but  t’other  day  I kept  a shop  at  Gosport. 

Pa7ig,  The  rumor  has  reached  me.  Fama  volat  vires- 
que?'' 

Lord  D.  Don’t  put  me  out. 

Pang,  Virgil.  Hem  ! proceed. 

Lord  D,  A tradesman,  you  know,  must  mind  the  main 
ch  ance ; so  when  Dick  began  to  grow  as  big  as  a porpus,  I got 
an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  lives  in  Derbyshire,  close  to  the 
devil’s — ^humph  ! close  to  the  peak — to  take  Dick  ’pren- 
tice at  half-price.  He’s  just  now  out  of  his  time;  and  I 
warrant  him,  as  wild  and  as  rough  as  a rock ; now,  if  you, 
doctor,  if  you  would  but  take  him  in  hand  and  soften  him 
a bit — 

Pang,  Pray,  my  lord — “ to  soften  rocks.”  Congreve. 
Hem!  pray,  my  lord,  what  profession  may  the  honorable 
Mr.  Dowlas  have  followed  ? 

Lord  D.  Who  ? Dick  ? he  has  served  his  clerkship  to  an 
attorney,  at  Castleton. 

Pang,  An  attorney  I gentlemen  of  his  profession,  my 
lord,  are  very  difficult  to  soften. 

I^rd  D,  Yes,  but  the  pay  may  make  it  worth  while. 
I’m  told  that  Lord  Spindle  gives  his  eldest  son.  Master 
Drumstick’s  tutorer,  three  hundred  a year,  and,  besides 
learning  his  pupil  he  has  to  read  my  lord  to  sleep  of  an 
afternoon,  and  walk  out  with  the  lap-dogs  and  children. 
Now,  if  three  hundred  a year,  doctor,  will  do  the  business 
for  Dick,  I shan’t  begrudge  it  you. 

Pang,  Three  hundred  a year  1 say  no  more,  my  lora. 
li.L.  D.  A.  double  8,  and  three  hundred  a year  1 I accept 
the  office.  “ Yerhum  Horace.  Hem  1 I’ll  run  to 

my  lodgings — settle  with  Mrs.  Suds — ^put  my  w^ardrobe 
into  a— -no,  I’ve  got  it  all  on,  and — {going.) 


THE  HEIR  AT  LAW. 


15 


Lord  b.  Hold,  hold ! not  so  hasty,  doctor , I must  first 
send  you  for  Dick,  to  the  Blue  Boar. 

Pang,  The  honorable  Mr.  Dowlas,  my  pupil,  at  the  Blue 
Boar. 

Lord  D,  Aye,  in  Holborn.  As  I an’t  fond  of  telling 
people  good  news  before  hand,  for  fear  they  may  be  baulk- 
ed, Dick  knows  nothing  of  my  being  made  a lord. 

Pang,  Three  hundred  a year ! 

“ I’ve  often  wished  that  I had,  clear 
For  life — six”  no ; three — 

“ Three  hundred.” 

Lord  D,  I wrote  him  just  before  I left  Gosport,  to  tell 
him  to  meet  me  in  London  with — • 

Pang,  Three  hundred  pounds  a year ! Swift — Hem ! 

Lord  D,  With  all  speed  upon  business,  d’ye  mind  me. 

Pang,  Dr.  Pangloss,  with  an  income  of! — no  lap-dogs, 
my  lord  ? 

Lord  I),  Nay,  but  listen,  doctor;  and  as  I did’nt  know 
where  old  Ferret  was  to  make  me  live  in  London,  I told 
Dick  to  be  at  the  Blue  Boar  this  morning,  by  the  stage- 
coach. Why,  you  don’t  hear  what  I’m  talking  about; 
doctor. 

Pang.  Oh,  perfectly,  my  lord — three  hundred — Blue 
Boars — ^in  a stage  coach  1 

Lord  D.  Well,  step  into  my  room,  doctor,  and  I’ll  give 
you  a letter  which  you  shall  carry  to  the  inn,  and  bring 
Dick  away  with  you.  I warrant  the  boy  will  be  ready  to 
jump  out  of  his  skin. 

Pang.  Skin ! jump  1 zounds,  I’m  ready  to  jump  out  of 
mine  1 I follow  your  lordship — oh,  doctor  Pangloss,  where 
is  your  philosophy,  now  1 I attend  you,  my  lord.  Equam 
memento?'^  Horace.  Servare  mentem — ^hem  1 bless  me, 
I’m  all  in  a fluster,  L.T..  D.  A.  double  S.,  and  three  hun- 
dred a — I attend  your  lordship. 


Scene  II. — A room  in  Blue  Boar  HiU^  Holborn. 

Enter  Waiter,  showing  in  Zekiel  Homespun,  and  C](;el'? 
Homespun  ; Ze;iiel  carrying  a 'portmanteau,^  l. 


16 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Wail.  This  way,  if  you  please,  sii. 

Ze/c.  So  here  we  be  at  last,  in  London,  at  the — what  be 
your  sign,  young  man? 

Wait.  The  Blue  Boar,  one  of  the  oldest  houses  in  IIol- 
burn. 

ZeL  Oldest ! why,  as  you  do  say,  young  man,  it  do  seem 
in  a tumble  downish  kind  of  a condition,  indeed ! 

Wait.  Shall  I put  your  portmanteau  on  the  table,  sir  ? 

[offering  to  take  it. 

Zek.  {jerking  it  from  him.)  No,  but  you  don’t  though. 
I ha’  heard  o’  the  tricks  o’  London,  though  I ne’er  sat  foot 
in’t  afore.  Master  Blue  Boar,  you  ha’  gotten  the  wrong 
sow  by  the  ear,  I can  tell  ye. 

Cicely.  La,  brother  Zekiel,  I dare  say  the  young  man  is 
honest 

Zek.  Haply  he  may  be.  Cicely ; but  the  honest  chaps  o’ 
this  town,  as  I be  told,  do  need  a deal  o’  looking  a’ter. 
Where  can  Dick  Dowlas,  now,  be  a loitering  so  long,  in  the 
yard  ? 

Wait.  The  gentleman  that  came  in  the  coach  with  you, 
sir  ? 

Zek.  Yes,  yes ; the  gentleman  wi’  all  his  clothes  in  his 
hand,  tied  up  in  a little  blue  and  white  pocket  handker* 
chief. 

V/ait.  Shall  I bid  him  come  up,  sir  ? 

Zek.  Aye,  be  so  kind,  will  ye  ? 

Wait.  I shall,  sir.  [JElxit.,  r. 

Zek.  I ha’  nothing  left  but  this  portmanteau,  and  you 
Cicely  : if  I w^as  to  lose  either  of  you,  what  would  become 
of  poor  Zekiel  Homespun  ? 

Cicely.  Dear,  now  ! this  was  the  cry  all  along  upon  the 
road.  Don’t  be  down-hearted,  brother ; there  be  plenty  o’ 
ways  o’  getting  bread  in  London. 

‘ Zek.  Oh,  plenty,  plenty  ! but  many  of  the  ways,  they  do 
say,  be  so  foul,  and  the  bread  be  so  dirty,  ’twould  turn  a 
( nice  stomach  to  eat  on’t. 

Cicely.  W ell,  I do  declare,  it  seems  a pure  place  ! with  a 
power  of  rich  gentlefolks,  for  certain ; for  I saw  No.  945 
upon  one  of  the  coach  doors  as  we  came  along ; and  no 
doubt,  tnere  be  more  of  them  still.  I do  so  like  it,  Zekiel  1 

Zek.  Don’t  ye  now — don’t  ye.  Cicely — pray  don’t  be  so 
merry : you  scare  me  out  o’  my  senses.  Think  what  a 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


17 


charge  I have  of  ye,  Cicely ! father  and  mother  dead — ^no 
kin  to  help  us ; both  thrown  o’  top  o’  the  wide  world,  to 
seek  our  fortunes,  and  only  I to  take  care  of  ye.  Indeed, 
indeed,  I do  love  ye.  Cicely  ! you  would  break  your  poor 
brother’s  heart  if  any  harm  was  to  befall  you.  You  would 
not  do  that  would  you,  Cicely  ? 

Cicely,  I,  Zekiel ! I wouldn’t  hurt  a hair  o’  your  head,  if 
I was  to  be  made  my  lord  mayor’s  lady  for  it.  You  have 
been  a kind  brother  to  me,  Zekiel ; and  if  I have  the  luck 
to  get  at  service  first,  I’d  work  my  finger’s  to  the  bone  to 
maintain  you. 

Zek.  Buss  me.  Cicely.  Odd  rabbit,  girl,  I be  only  chicken- 
hearted  on  your  account. 

Cicely,  Well,  let  us  hope  for  the  best,  Zekiel.  Poor  fa- 
ther has  followed  mother  to  the  cold  grave,  sure  eno'ugh  ; 
and  the  squire,  out  of  the  spite  he  owed  us,  has  turned  us 
out  of  the  Castleton  farm ; but ; — 

Zek,  That  were  bad  enough!  though  I could  ha’ stomach’d 
that — ^but  damn  him  1 (heaven  forgive  us)  he  spoke  ill  o’ 
father’s  memory.  I’d  as  big  a mind  to  lick  squire,  as  ever 
I had  i’  my  life  ; and  then,  as  you  do  say,  to  turn  us  adrift. 

Cicely,  But  we  are  young  and  strong,  brother  Zekiel,  and 
able  to  get  our  living. 

Zek,  Why  that  be  true  enough.  Cicely. 

Cicely,  Well,  then,  come  now,  pluck  up  a spirit!  be 
lightsome  and  jovial  a bit,  Zekiel,  do  now. 

Zek,  Well,  I — I’ll  do  my  best.  Bang  if  ^ve  had  but  a 
friend  now. 

Cicely.  Why,  haven’t  we  ? 

Zek,  None  that  I do  know  of,  bating  Dick  Dowlas,  who 
be  come  up  wfi’  us  in  the  Castleton  coach. 

Cicely,  Well,  brother,  I’m  sure  he’d  go  through  fire  and 
water  to  serve  us.  He  has  told  me  so,  Zekiel,  fifty  good 
times  by  the  side  of  old  Dobbin’s  pond,  by  moonlight. 

Zek,  Aye,  I do  know  he  ha’  kept  you  company.  Cicely, 
I told  him,  when  father  died,  that  I was  agreeable  to  his 
having  of  you,  provided  matters  got  a little  more  smoothish 
j with  you. 

Cicely,  Did  you  ? la,  Zekiel ! 

Zek,  Dick  be  an  honest  fellow. 

Cicely,  That  he  is,  indeed,  brother.  [eagerly, 

Zek,  I hft’  krowm  him  now,  seven  good  years,  since  first 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


IB 

he  came  Castleton;  and  we  ha’  been  for  all  the  world 
like  brothers.  Dick  be  a little  rantipolish,  but  as  generous 
a lad — 

[Dick  Dowlas,  singing  and  talking  ivithont^  l. 

“ Oh,  London  is  a fine  town, 

A very  famous  city.” 

Take  care  of  my  bundle,  d’ye  hear  ? 

Enter  Dick,  singing. 

“ Where  all  the  streets  are  paved  with  gold, 

And  all  the  maidens  pretty.” 

^Vell,  shan’t  wo  have  a bit  of  something  to  eat  ? just  a 
snaok,  Zekiel,  eh  ? here,  you  waiter  ! 

Enter  Waiter^  ivitli  a bundle^  l. 

AVhat,  Cis,  my  girl  ? come,  get  some  cold  beef,  you.  How 
dost  do,  after  the  journey  V aye,  cold  beef,  put  down  the 
bundle ; mustard,  vinegar,  and  all  that,  you  know : Cis 
likes  a relish. 

Wait,  Directly,  sir.  \^Puts  DicEs  bundle  doivn  and 
exit^  R.  . 

Dick.  Aye,  jump  about,  m}^'  tight  fellow.  Zounds,  how 
the  rumbling  of  the  old  coach  keeps  whirling  in  my  head  ! 

Zek,  I do  think,  Dick,  your  head  be  always  a little  upon 
the  whirling  order. 

Dick.  If  I hadn’t  got  out  to  take  the  reins  in  hand  now 
and  then,  I should  have  been  as  muzzy  as  a Methodist  par- 
son. Didn’t  I knock  the  tits  along,  nicely,  Cis  ? 

Cicely.  Aye,  indeed,  Dick ; except  bumping  us  up  against 
the  turn-pike  gates,  we  went  as  pure  and  pleasant. 

Dick.  Pshaw,  that  was  an  accident.  Well,  old  Domino 
hasn’t  call’d  for  me  here  yet — can’  think  what  the  old  boj  ’ 
\vants  with  me  in  London ; bad  news,  I’m  afraid. 

Cicely.  No,  don’t  you  say  so,  Dick  ! 

Zek.  Hap  what  will,  Dick,  I’ll  stand  by  ye.  I be  as  poov 
as  Job,  but — 

Dick.  Tip  us  your  daddle,  Zekiel ; you’ve  as  tender  a 
heart  as  ever  got  into  the  tough  carcase  of  a Castleton 
farmer.  Yes,  the  old  boy’s  last  letter  but  one  told  me  that 
things  were  going  on  badly.  Damn  that  chandler’s  shop  ( 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


19 


bacon,  eggs,  coal,  and  candles,  have  laid  him  low.  A 
bankruptcy,  I warrant,  and  he  is  come  up  to  town  to  white- 
wash. 

Zek,  And  to  consult  wi’  you,  mayhap,  as  you  be  in  the 
iaw,  about  the  business. 

Bick.  Gad,  then  it  will  be  like  consulting  most  people  in 
the  law — She’ll  get  nothing  from  me  that’s  satisfactory.  Old 
Latitat  had  as  little  business  as  I had  inclination  in  the 
practice. 

Zek.  Well,  but  Dick,  sure  you  can  do  somewhat  in  your 
calling.  You  can  draw  up  a will,  or  a lease  of  a farm,  now  ? 

Bick,  I can  shoot  a wild  duck  with  any  lawyer’s  clerk  in 
the  country.  I can  fling  a bar — play  at  cricket — 

Zek.  That  you  can : I used  to  notch  for  vou,  vou  do 
know. 

Bick,  I can  make  a bowl  of  punch — 

Zek,  That  you  can  : I used  to  drink  it  wi’  you,  you  do 
know. 

Bick,  I can  make  love — 

Cicely,  That  you  can,  Dick. 

Bick,  I can  catch  gudgeons — 

Zek,  Aye,  aye,  that  be  part  o’  your  trade.  Catching  o’ 
gudgeons  be  a lawyer’s  chiefest  employment,  they  do  say. 

Bick,  Well,  now  to  business  : here’s  a newspaper  I pick- 
ed up  at  the  bar ; there  is  something  in  it,  T think,  that  will 
suit  Cis.  Eead  it. 

Zek,  {readmg)  Wanted — a maid” 

Bick,  That’s  a difficult  thing  to  be  found  in  London,  I 
take  it. 

Zek,  So  far  ’twill  do  for  our  Cicely. 

Cicely,  Yes : I’d  better  make  haste  and  get  the  place  for 
fear  any  thing  should  happen,  you  know. 

Zek,  Let’s  read  it,  Cicely, — ‘‘Wanted  a maidservant  by 
a young  lady” 

Cicely,  Dear  . a young  lady  ! 

Zek,  “ Who  lives  very  retired  at  the  west  end  of  the 

town — must  be  clean  in  h€T  person Cicely  be  very 

clean. 

/ Bick,  As  any  lass  in  Derbyshire.* 

Zek,  “ And  good  natured” — Cicely  be  as  good  natured 

a girl  as  ever — umph  ! well,  let’s  see “ And  willing  to 

do  what  is  required.” 


20 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Cicely.  Well,  I an*  very  willing,  you  know,  Dick,  an’t  I ? 

Dick.  That  you  are,  Cis.  Kiss  me. 

Cicely.  La,  Dick,  this  will  just  do  ; I’m  so  pleased  ! 

Zek.  “ If  from  the  country  the  better.”  Rabbit  it.  Cicely, 
this  be  the  very  thing.  Tol,  de  rol  lol ! or  if  any  farmer 
in  difficulties,  from  a numerous  family,  wishes  to  put  hi? 
daughter  to  a service,” — Oh,  my  poor  old  father  ! this  be 
the  thing— “ she  will  meet  with  the  tenderest  care  from  the 
lady,  who  has  herself  known  what  it  is  to  be  unfortunate.’' 
Tol,  de  rol,  lol ! buss  me.  Cicely  ! hug  me,  Dick  Dowlass  \ 

I shall  provide  for  sister — the  care  next  my  very  heaft. 
Tol,  de  rol,  lol ! Rabbit  it,  I be  ready  to  choke  for  joy  ! 

Cicely.  Dear,  now  ! this  is  the  rarest  luck  ! live  with  a 
young  lady  ! I shall  be  so  great  and  grand 

Dick.  And  grow  giddy  with  good  fortune,  and  forget 
your  poor  friends,  Cis. 

Zek.  No,  no ; Cicely  be  too  good  for  that.  Forget  a 
poor  friend ! when  such  giddy  folks  do  chance  to  get  tum- 
ble, they  may  e’en  thank  themselves  if  nobody  be  ready  to 
help  ’em  up. 

Cicely.  Now,  I wouldn’t  have  said  such  vrords  to  you, 
Dick.  You  know,  so  you  do,  ii'  I was  to  be  made  a queen, 
it  would  be  my  pride,  to  share  ail  my  gold  with  brother  and 
you. 

Dick.  My  dear  Cis  ! well,  I’m  sorry ; faith  I am  ; and  if 
ever  I,  or  my  family,  should  come  to  fortune, — but  pshaw  ! 
— damn  it,  my  father  keeps  a chandler’s  shop,  without  cus^ 
tom. 

Enter  Waiter,  r. 

Wait.  The  cloth  is  laid  for  you  in  the  other  room,  gen- 
tlemen ; for  you  can’t  dine  here. 

Dick.  Why  so  ? 

Wait.  The  church  wardens  come  to  eat  a great  dinner 
here,  once  a month,  for  the  good  of  the  poor ; this  is  their 
day. 

Zek.  That’s  as  they  do  down  wi’  us  : but  I could  ne vet- 
find  out  why  stuffing  a church-warden’s  guts  was  for  thci 
good  of  the  poor  o’  the ‘parish.  \ 

Dick.  Nor  I neither  ; unless  he  got  a surfeit  that  carried  I 
him  off.  Come,  Zekiel;  you  shall  go  presently  after  the! 
lace:  but  let  us  refi'esh.  What  we  eat  will  be  for  the' 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


21 


good  of  the  poor,  I’m  certaia.  Cis,  your  arm.  Take  my 
fcundle,  you  dog  : {to  the  Waiter)  and  don't  drop  anything 
out,  for  I’ve  no  linen  to  spare.  Come  Cis.  \Exeunt  r. 

END  OF  ACT  I. 


ACT.H. 

Scene  I. — An  Apartment, 

Caroline  Dormer,  discovered. 

Car,  I ‘vish  Kenrick  were  come  back.  My  last  hope 
hangs  upon  the  answer  he  will  bring  me.  "World,  world! 
when  affluence  points  the  telescope,  how  closely  does  it  at- 
tract thy  venal  inhabitants  1 how  magnified  are  all  their 
smiles  1 let  poverty  reverse  the  glass,  far  distant  does  it 
cast  them  from  us,  and  the  features  of  friendship  are  dwin- 
dled into  nothing.  I hear  him  coming. 

o o 

Enter  Kenrick. 

Well,  Kenrick,  have  you  carried  the  letter  ? 

Ken.  Indeed,  and  I have.  Miss  Caroline. 

Car,  And  what  answer  from  my  father’s  old  friend,  Ken 
rick  ? 

Ken.  Faith,  now,  your  father’s  old  friend,  begging  your 
pardon,  answer’d  like  a big  blackguard. 

Car.  Surely,  Kenrick,  he  could  not  look  surprised  at  my 
application  ? 

Ken.  Faith,  he  look’d  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  had  swal- 
low’d a bottle  of  vinegar.  When  I was  his  honor’s  (^^our 
poor  deceased  father’s)  butler,  and  help’d  this  dear  old 
friend  to  good  bumpers  of  Madeira,  and  be  hang’d  to  him,  he 
made  clean  another  sort  of  a face  of  it. 

Car,  And  has  he  sent  no  letter  in  answer  ? 


22 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Ken,  Not  a syllable  at  this  present  writing ; it  was  all  by 
varbal  word  of  dirty  mouth. 

Car,  Insulting! 

Ken.  Give  my  compliments  to  Miss  Caroline  Dormer, 
says  he,  and  tell  her  I’m  sorry  for  her  misfortunes : bless 
you,  says  I.  But  I cannot  be  of  the  smallest  service  to  her. 
The  devil  fly  away  with  you,  thinks  I. 

Car.  Did  he  assign  no  reason  ? 

Ken.  Och  1 to  be  sure,  an  ould  skinflint  doesn’t  always 
give  you  plenty  of  reasons  for  being  hard-hearted  1 ’tis  fit- 
ting he  should.  Miss,  becase  the  case  requires  it ; but  com- 
passion is  compassion;  and  that’s  reason  enough  for  showing 
it,  in  all  conscience. 

Car.  But  what  said  he,  Kenrick  ? 

Ken.  Her  father,  Mr.  Dormer’s  bankruptcy,  says  he,  has 
made  a terrible  deal  of  noise  in  the  world.  Aye,  and  a ter- 
rible deal  of  work  too,  says  I ; for  you  know.  Miss  Caro- 
line, my  poor  old  master,  rest  his  soul,  wsls  one  of  the  big- 
gest merchants  in  the  city  of  London. 

Car.  True,  Kenrick  ; but  died  almost  one  of  its  poorest 
inhabitants. 

Ken.  That’s  what  the  ould  fellow  said.  Her  father  has 
died  so  involved,  says  he,  that  no  prudent  man  can  concern 
himself  for  the  daughter,  or  run  the  risk  of  meddling  with 
his  affairs.  And  so  he  ended,  with  his  respects,  and  a par- 
cel of  palaver,  to  you ; and  an  offer  of  half-a-crown  to  your 
humble  servant,  as  an  ould  acquaintance. 

Car.  And  yet,  had  my  father’s  prudence  been  of  his 
complexion,  I doubt,  Kenrick,  whether  this  man  would 
now  have  half  a-crown  to  offer  you. 

Ken.  Och  ! now,  if  I had  but  minded  to  tell  him  that ! 
but  I 'made  the  half-crown  tell  it  him,  as  plain  as  it  could 
speak ; for  I threw  it  on  the  ould  miser’s  table,  with  a 
great  big  whack ; and,  by  my  soul,  he  never  jump’d  so  high 
at  two-and-six-pence  before  in  all  his  beggarly  born  days. 

Car,  Then  there  is  no  hope  from  that  quarter,  Ken- 
rick ? \ 

Ken.  No  more  hope  than  there  is  in  a dead  coach-horse.- 

Car.  I w’ould  wish  to  be  alone,  Kenrick : — pray  leave! 
me.  I 

Ken.  Lea^  e you  ! and  in  grief,  Miss  Caroline  I \ 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


23 


Car.  I would  not  have  you,  my  good  old  man,  a witness 
to  my  affliction. 

Ken.  What,  and  wasn’t  my  poor,  dear,  departed  wife, 
Judith,  your  own  nurse,  wet  and  dry,  for  many  a good 
year  ? and  isn’t  myself,  Felix  Kenrick,  your  own  foster- 
father,  that  have  dandled  you  in  these  ouldarms  when  you 
were  the  size  of  a dumpling  ? and  will  I leave  you  to  take 
on,  after  this  fashion,  all  alone,  by  yourself?  \Jialf  crying. 

Car.  Pray,  pray  be  silent,  Kenrick  ! — oh  nature  ! spite 
of  the  inequalities  which  birth  or  education  have  placed  be- 
tween thy  children, — still,  nature,  with  all  thy  softness,  I 
own  thee.  The  tear  of  an  old  and  faithful  servant,  which 
bedews  the  ruins  of  his  shelter,  is  an  honest  drop  that  pene- 
trates the  heart. 

Ken.  Aye,  cry  away,  my  poor  Miss  Caroline ; cry  away ! 
I shared  the  sunshine  of  your  family,  and  it  is  but  fair  that 
I should  go  halves  in  the  ruin. 

Car.  A poor  two  hundred  pounds,  Kenrick,  are  now  all 
that  remain  to  me. 

Ken.  Well,  come,  two  hundred  pounds,  now-a-days,  are 
not  to  be  sneezed  at.  Consider  how  consoling  it  is,  my  dear 
Miss,  to  think  that,  with  good  management,  it  may  be  a 
matter  of  two  years  before  you  are  left  without  a penny  in 
the  whole  wide  world  ! and  that’s  four-and-twenty  calender 
months,  you  know. 

Car.  Had  this  hollow  friend  of  my  father’s  exerted  him- 
self in  the  wreck  of  our  house’s  fortune,  he  might,  probably, 
have  averted  the  penury  which  threatens  me. 

Ken.  Och!  if  I could  but  beat  humanity  into  his  heart, 
through  his  carcase,  I’d  make  him  as  tender  as  a sucxing 

pig- 

Car.  Lord  Duberly’s  death,  too,  in  the  moment  of  my 
difflculties  ! in  him  I might  still  have  found  a protector. 

Ken.  Aye,  and  his  brave  son,  too,  the  honorable  Mr. 
Henry  Morland,  that  was  to  have  married  you.  Well,  be  oi 
good  heart  now — ^for  he’s  dead  ! the  poor  drown’d  youth. 

Car.  Desist,  Kenrick,  I beseech  you. 

/ Ken.  Aye,  well  now  you  are  unhappy  ; but  you  see  I’m 
after  making  you  easy.  J ust  as  the  two  families  had  popp’d 
down  the  man  of  your  heart  for  your  husband,  faith,  ho 
popp’d  himself  into  his  decent  watery  grave  ; and  I am  left, 


24 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


the  only  tender  friend  you  have  in  the  world,  to  remind  yon 
of  it. 

Car,  Eemind  me  no  more,  Kenrick.  Your  intention  is 
good,  but  this  is  torment  to  me  instead  of 

Zek,  {Speaking  without,)  Above  stairs ! oh,  very  well 
ma’am, — thank  you,  ma’am. 

Car,  Hark ! I hear  somebody  inquiring  for  me,  on  the 
stairs. 

Ken,  Now,  that’s  the  worst  of  these  lodgings.  Faith, 
the  people  come  into  your  house  before  you  have  opened 
the  door  ! [A  knock  at  the  door  of  the  room. 

Car,  Come  in. 

Entei  Zekiel  and  Cicely  Homespun,  r. 

Have  you  any  business  with  me,  friend  ? 

Zek,  Why,  yes,  ma’am,  it  be  a smallish  bit  of  business, 
as  a body  may  say. 

Car,  Well,  young  man? 

Zek.  Why,  madam,  I be  come  to — pray,  if  I may  make 
so  bold,  isn’t  your  name  A.  B.  ? 

Car,  Oh,  I understand ; you  come  in  consequence  of  an 
advertisement.  I believe  you  may  leave  us,  Kenrick.  It 
was  I who  advertised  for  a maid-servant. 

Zek.  And,  with  submission,  madam,  I be  come  to  offer 
for  the  place. 

Ken,  This  is  the  first  time  I ever  saw  a servant-maid  in 
a pair  of  leather  breeches,  in  all  my  life.  [Exit,  r. 

Car,  You,  honest  friend,  as  a maid-servant  ? 

Zek.  Yes,  for  Cicely.  Curt’sey,  Cicely. 

Cic.  I do,  brother  Zekiel. 

Zek.  This  be  my  sister,  madam.  We  be  newly  come 
from  Derbyshire ; and  lighting  at  the  Blue  Boar — the 
great  in — ^in — Holborn — that — but,  perhaps  you  may  fre- 
quent it,  madam. 

Car,  Well,  friend? 

Zek.  Why  we  stumbled  upon  your  notice  in  the  news^ 
madam  ; and  so — and  so  here  we  be,  madam. 

Car,  {to  Cicely)  Have  you  ever  been  in  service  befor  e, 
child  ? 1 

Cic.  No,  never,  if  you  please,  madam  ; — I was  alwaws 
with  father,  and  minded  the  dairy.  I 

Car.  And  why  did  you  quit  your  father  pray  I 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


25 


Cic,  He  died,  if  you  please,  madam.  It  was  a sad  day 
for  brother  and  I.  ’Tis  a cruel  thing,  madam,  to  lose  » 
good  father. 

Car.  It  is,  indeed,  child.  I can  well  feel  it. 

Cic.  And  when  he  dies  in  distress,  too,  madam— 

Car.  Did  your  father  die  so,  child  ? 

ZeJc.  All  along  o’  that  damned  squire.  Mother  were  gone 
long  ago ; and  when  children  be  left  destitute,  it  be  hard 
to  find  a friend  to  compassionate  ’em. 

Car.  I — I will  be  that  friend.  My  power  is  little — al- 
most nothing — ^but,  as  far  as  it  can  go,  you  shall  find  pro- 
tection. 

Cic.  Oh,  the  gracious  ! — ^what  a pure  lady  ! 

Car.  But  can  you  refer  me  to  any  one  for  a character  ? 

Zek.  I ha’  gotten  a character  in  my  pocket,  madam,  they 
tell  me  that  be  the  way  they  do  take  most  characters  in 
London.  Here  be  a certificate  from  parson  Brock,  of  our 
parish,  [ Giving  it. 

Car.  I see.  What  can  you  do  to  be  useful.  Cicely  ? 

Cic.  Oh,  a power  of  things ; I can  churn  and  feed  ducks  ; 
milk  COW’S,  and  fatten  a pig,  madam. 

Zek.  Yes,  yes — jon  will  find  Cicely  handy  enough,  I 
warrant  her. 

Car.  All  this  wdll  be  of  little  service  in  London. 

Zek.  Od  rabbit  it,  madam,  she  wrill  soon  learn  here  to 
put  her  hand  to  anything.  Won’t  you.  Cicely  ? 

Cic.  If  I don’t,  it  shan’t  be  for  want  of  inclination  to 
please  you,  my  lady. 

Car.  Well,  child,  come  in  the  evening,  and  you  shall  be- 
gin your  service.  We  shall  not  disagree  about  wages : and 
you  will  be  treated  more  like  a humble  friend  than  a ser- 
vant. Kenrick ! I shall  only  have  yourself  and  a poor, 
faithful  Irishman. 

Zek.  {Aside.)  An  Irishman ! dang  it,  these  Irishman,  as 
I be  told,  be  devils  among  the  girls.  My  mind  do  mistake 
me  ; for  Cicely  be  young  and  thoughtless. 

I Enter  Kenrick,  r. 

! Car.  Show  these  good  people  down,  Kenrick ; and  take 
tliis  bill  to  Lombard-street. 

Ken.  I shall  do  that  thing.  Miss  Caroline. 

Zek.  Oh  ! then  this  be  the  Irishman.  He  be  a plaguy 


26 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


old  one,  indeed  ! come,  there  be  nothing  tc  fear  about  he. 
{Aside,)  A good  day  to  you,  madam.  Cui*t’sey,  Cicely. 

Ken.  Come,  you  two  go  first : for  I must  be  after  show 
mg  you  the  way,  you  know. 

[Kxitj  following  Zekiel  and  Cicely,  l. 

Cor.  This  simple  girl’s  story  approaches  so  near  to  me. 
Poor  innocence  ! mine  is  a sorry  shelter  in  your  wander- 
ings : yet  it  may  be  warmer  than  one  more  splendid ; for 
opulence  relieves,  sometimes  with  coldness,  sometimes  with 
ostentation,  sometimes  with  levity ; but  sympathy  kindles 
the  brightest  spark  that  shines  on  the  altar  of  compassion ; 
and  tenderness  pours  on  it  the  sweetest  balm  that  charity 
produces,  when  the  afflicted  administer  to  the  afflicted. 

{Exitj  L. 


Scene  II. — A Room  in  the  Blue  Boar  Inn. 

Enter  Dr.  Pangloss  and  Waiter,  l. 

Pang.  Let  the  chariot  turn  about.  Dr.  Pangloss  in  a 
lord’s  curra  ]portahur  eodem?'^  Juvenal.  Hem! 

waiter  I 

Wait.  Sir. 

Pang.  Have  you  any  gentleman  here,  who  arrived  this 
morning? 

Wait.  There’s  one  in  the  house,  now,  sir. 

Pang.  Is  he  juvenile  ? 

Wait.  No,  sir,  he’s  Derbyshire. 

Pang.  He,  he,  he  1 of  what  appearance  is  the  gentleman  ? 

Wait.  Why,  plaguy  poor,  sir. 

Pang.  “ Iholdhim  rich,  al  had  he  not  a sherte.”  Chaucer. 
Hem  1 denominated  the  honorable  Mr.  Dowlas  ? 

Wait.  Honorable ! he  left  his  name  plain  Do  wlas  at  the 
bar,  sir. 

Pang.  Plain  Dowlas,  did  he  ? that  will  do,  “ for  all  the 
rest  is  leather.” 

Wait.  Leather,  sir  1 1 

Pang.  And  prunello.”  Pope.  Hem!  tell  Mr.  D<tw 
las  a gentleman  requests  the  honor  of  an  interview.  \ 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


27 


Wad.  This  is  his  room,  sir!  He  is  but  just  stepped  into 
^ur  parcel  warehouse ; he’ll  be  with  you  directly. 

{Exit^  R. 

Pang.  Never  before  did  honor  and  affluence  let  fall  such 
a shower  on  the  head  of  Dr.  Pangloss!  Fortune,  I thank 
thee  I propitious  goddess,  I am  grateful ! I,  thy  favored 
child,  who  commenced  his  career  in  the  loftiest  apartment  of 
a muffin-maker,  in  Milk  Alley.  Little  did  I think,  ‘‘  good 
easy  man.”  Shakspeare.  Hem  ! of  the  riches  and  literary 
dignities  which  now — 

Enter  Dick  Dowlas,  r. 

*My  pupil! 

Dick.  {Speaking  while  entering.)  Well,  where  is  the 
man  that  wants — oh  I you  are  he,  I suppose — 

Pang.  I am  the  man,  young  gentleman  ! homo  sum.''^ 
Terence.  Hem  ! Sir,  the  person  who  now  presumes  to 
address  you,  is  Peter  Pangloss ; to  whose  name,  in  the 
college  of  Aberdeen,  is  subjoined,  L.L.  D.,  signifying  doc- 
tor of  laws ; to  which  has  been  recently  added,  the  dis- 
tinction of  A double  S ; the  Eoman  initials  for  a fellow  oi 
the  Society  of  Arts. 

Dick.  Sir,  I am  your  most  obedient,  Eichard  Dowlas ; 
to  whose  name,  in  his  tailor’s  bill,  is  subjoined,  D.  E.,  sig- 
nifying debtor;  to  which  are  added  L.  S.  D.,  the  Eoman 
initials  for  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence. 

Pang.  Ha ! this  youth  was  doubtless  designed  by  des- 
tiny to  move  in  the  circles  of  fashion ; for  he  is  dipped  in 
debt,  and  makes  a merit  of  telling  it. 

Dick.  But  wfflat  are  your  commands  with  me,  doctor  ? 

Pang.  I have  the  honor,  young  gentleman,  of  being  de- 
puted an  ambassador  to  you,  from  your  father. 

Dick.  Then  you  have  the  honor  to  be  an  ambassador  of 
as  good-natured  an  old  fellow  as  ever  sold  a ha’porth  of 
cheese  in  a chandler’s  shop. 

Pang.  Pardon  me,  if  on  J:he  subject  of  your  * father’s 
cheese,  I advise  you  to  be  as  mute  as  a mouse  in  one,  for 
the  future.  ’Twere  better  to  keep  that  “ alia  menta  re 
postum.’^'^  Virgil.  Hem ! 

Dick.  Why,  what’s  the  matter?  any  misfortune?  broke, 
I fear. 


28 


HEIR  AT  LAW 


Fang,  No,  not  broke ; but  his  name,  as  tis  customary 
in  these  cases,  has  appear’d  in  the  Gazette. 

I>ick,  Not  broke,  but  Gazetted ! why,  zounds  and  the 
devil  ! 

Fang,  Check  your  passions  ; learn  philosophy.  When 
the  wife  of  the  great  Socrates  threw  a — hum ! threw  a tea- 
pot at  his  erudite  head,  he  was  as  cool  as  a cucumber 
When  Plato— 

Bick,  Damn  Plato  ! what  of  my  father  ? 

Pang,  Don’t  damn  Plato.  The  bees  swarm’d  round  his 
mellifluous  mouth  as  soon  as  he  was  swaddled.  Cum  in 
Tunis  apes  in  labellis  consedissent,^''  Cicero.  Hem  ! 

Dick,  I wish  you  had  a swarm  round  yours,  with  all  my 
heart.  Come,  to  the  point. 

Pang,  In  due  time.  But  calm  your  choler.  Iro furor 

brevis  est?"^  Horace.  Hem  ! read  this,  \gives  a letter, 
Bick,  (^Snatches  the  letter^  hi'eaks  it  open  and  reads. ^ 

“ Dear  Dick.  This  comes  to  inform  you  I am  in  a perfect 
state  of  health,  hoping  you  are  the  same.”  Aye,  that’s  the 
old  beginning.  It  was  my  lot,  last  week,  to  be  made” — 
aye,  a bankrupt,  I suppose — ‘‘  to  be  made  a” — ^what  ? ‘‘  to  be  ' 
made  a P.  E.  A.  E ;”  a pear ! to  be  made  a pear ! what 
the  devil  does  he  mean  by  that  ? 

Fang,  A peer— a peer  of  the  realm.  His  lordship’s 
orthography  is  a little  loose,  but  several  of  his  equals  coun- 
tenance the  custom.  Lord  Loggerhead  always  spells  phy- 
sician with  an  E. 

Dick.  A peer  ! what,  my  father  ! I’m  electrified.  Old 
Daniel  Dowlas  made  a peer  ! but  let  me  see — {reads  on) 
pear  of  the  realm.  Lawyer  Ferret  got  me  my  title” — • 
titt — oh,  title  ! and  an  estate  of  fifteen  thousand  per  ann., 
by  making  me  out  next  of  kin  to  old  Lord  Duberly,  be- 
cause he  died  without— without  hair.^\  ’Tis  an  odd  rea- 
son, by  the  bye,  to  be  next  of  kin  to  a nobleman,  because 
he  died  bald. 

Pang.  His  lordship  mean^  heir — ^heir  to  his  estate.  Wo 
shall  meliorate  his  style  speedily.  Eeform  it  altogeth  W.” 
Shakspeare.  Hem ! 

Dick.  I sent  my  carrot.”  Carrot ! i 

Pang^  He,  he,  he  ! chariot  his  lordship  means.  I 
Dick.  With  Dr.  Pangloss  ii?  it.”  \ 

Pang,  That’s  me*  I 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


29 


Dick,  “ Eespect  him,  for  he’s  an  L.  L.  D.,  and  moreover 
an  A double  S.”  {they  how. 

Pang,  His  lordship  kindij  condescended  to  insert  that 
at  my  request. 

Dick.  “ And  I have  made  him  your  tutorer,  to  mend 
your  cakelology.” 

Pang.  Cacology;  from  K-aiiog^  malus^  and  Aoyof,  var- 
bum.  Vide  Lexicon.  Hem ! 

Dick,  Come  with  the  doctor  to  my  house  in  Hanover 
feviuare.”  Hanover  Square  ! “ I remain  your  affectionate 

father,  to  command,  Duberly.” 

Pang.  That’s  his  lordship’s  title. 

Dick.  Is  it  ? 

Pang.  It  is. 

Dick.  Say  sir  to  a lord’s  son.  You  have  no  more  man- 
ners than  a bear. 

Pang.  Bear!  under  favor  young  gentleman,  I am  the* 
bear  leader  ; being  appointed  your  tutor. 

Dick,  And  what  can  you  teach  me  ? 

Pang,  Prudence.  Don’t  forget  yourself  in  sudden  suc- 
cess. Tecun  habito?'^  Persius.  Hem  1 

Dick,  Prudence  to  a nobleman’s  son;  with  fifteen  thou- 
sand a year ! 

Pang.  Don’t  give  way  to  your  passions. 

Dick,  Give  way ; zounds ! I’m  wild  : mad ! you  teach 
me,  pooh  ! I have  been  in  London  before,  and  know  it  re- 
quires no  teaching  to  be  made  a modern  fine  gentleman. 
Why,  it  all  lies  in  a nut  shell : sport  a curricle — walk  Bond 
street — play  at  Paro- — get  drunk-^dance  reels — go  to  the 
opera — cut  off  your  tail — pull  on  your  pantaloons — and 
there’s  a buck  of  the  first  fashion  in  town,  for  you.  Dam’me 
d’ye  think  I don’t  know  what’s  going  ? 

Pang.  Mercy  on  me.  I shall  have  a very  refractory 
pupil ! 

Dick.  Not  at  all.  We’ll  be  hand  and  glove  together, my 
little  Doctor.  I’ll  drive  you  down  to  all  the  races,  with  my 
tferrier  between  your  legs,  in  a tsndem. 
j Pang.  Doctor  Pangloss,  the  philosopher,  with  a terrier 
between  his  legs,  in  a tandem. 

Dick,  I’ll  tell  you  what,  doctor.  I’ll  make  you  my  long 
stop  at  crirkei. — ^you  shall  draw  corks  when  I’m  president 
— laugh  at  TiQ}'  jokes  before  company — ^squeeze  lemoius  for 


30 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


punch — cast  up  the  reckoning — and  wee  betide  you  if  you 
don’t  keep  sober  enough  to  see  me  safe  home,  after  a jollh 
fication  ! 

Fang.  Make  me  a long-stop,  and  a squeezer  of  lemons  I 
zounds  ! this  is  more  fatiguing  than  walking  out  with  the 
lap-dogs  ! and  are  these  the  qualifications  for  a tutor,  young 
gentleman  ? 

Fick.  To  be  sure  they  are.  ’Tis  the  way  that  half  the 

i3rig  parsons,  who  educate  us  honorables,  jump  into  fat 
ivings. 

Pang.  ’Tis  well,  they  jump  into  something  fat,  at  last, 
for  they  must  wear  all  the  flesh  off  their  bones  in  the 
process. 

Dick.  Come  now,  tutor,  go  5^ou  and  call  the  waiter. 
Fa.ng.  Go  and  call ! sir,  sir ! I’d  have  you  to  understand 
Mr.  Dowlas — 

Dick.  Aye,  let  us  understand  one  another,  doctor.  My 
father,  I take  it,  comes  down*  handsomely  to  you  for  your 
management  of  me. 

Pang.  My  lord  has  been  liberal. 

Dick.  But  ’tis  I must  manage  you,  doctor.  Acknow- 
ledge this,  and  between  ourselves.  I’ll  find  means  to  double 
your  pay. 

Pang.  Double  my — 

Dick.  Do  you  hesitate  ? why,  man,  you  have  set  up  for 
a modern  tutor  without  knowing  your  trade. 

Pang.  Double  my  pay!  say  no  more — done  actum, 
est.^^  Terence.  Hem!  Waiter!  {bawlingj)  gad,  I’ve 
reached  the  right  reading  at  last 

*•  I’ve  often  wished  that  I had  clear 
For  life,  six  hundred  pounds  a year — ” 

Swift.  Hem  ! waiter  I 

Dick.  That’s  right;  tell  him  to  pop  my  clothes  and 
linen  into  the  carriage  ; they  are  in  that  hurdle. 

Enter  Waiter,  r.  b- 

Pang.  Waiter,  here,  put  up  the  honorable  Mr.  Dowlases 
elothes  and  linen  into  his  father’s,  lord  Duberly’s  chaiiot  i 
Pang.  Where  are  they  all,  sir  ? V 

Pang.  AH  wrapped  up  in  the  honorable  Mr.  Dowlas’Ai 
pocket-handkerchief  {Exit  %vaiter.,%vitlvh'undle.^\..  \ 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


31 


Dick,  See  ’em  safe  in,  doctor,  and  I’ll  be  with  you 
lirectly. 

Pang.  I go,  most  worthy  pupil.  Six  hundred  pounds  a 
^^ear  ! however  deficient  in  the  classics,  his  knowledge  of 
arithmetic  is  admirable. 

I’ve  often  wished  that  I had  clear 
• For  life ” 

Dick,  Nay,  nay,  don’t  be  so  slow. 

Pang.  Swift.  Hem ! I’m  gone.  [Exit^  l, 

Dick.  What  am  I to  do  with  Zeldel  and  Cis  ? when  a 
poor  man  has  grown  great,  his  old  acquaintance  generally 
begin  to  be  troublesome. 

Enter  Zekiel,  r. 

Zcl\  Weil,  I han’t  been  long. 

Dick.  No,  you  are  come  time  enough,  in  all  conscience. 

[ Coolly, 

Zek.  Cicely  ha’  gotten  the  place.  I be  e’en  almost  stark 
wild  wi’  joy.  Such  a good-natured  young  madam  ! why, 
you  don’t  seem  pleased,  man  ! sure,  and  sure,  you  be  glad 
of  our  good  fortune,  Dick. 

Dick,  Dick ! what  do  you — oh ! but  he  doesn’t  know 
yet,  that  1 am  a lord’s  son.  I rejoice  to  hear  of  your  suc- 
cess, friend  Zekiel.  • . 

Zek,  Why,  now,  that’s  hearty.  But,  eh  ! why  you  look 
mortal  heavy  and  lumpish,  Dick.  No  bad  tidings  since  we 
ha’  been  out,  I hope. 

Dick,  Oh,  no  ! 

Zek.  Eh ! let’s  have  a squint  at  you.  Odd  rabbit,  but 
summut  have  happened.  You  ha’  seen  your  father,  and 
things  ha’  gone  crossish.  Who  have  been  here,  Dick  ? 

Dick,  Only  a gentleman  who  had  the  honor  of  being  de- 
puted an  ambassador  from  my  father. 

Zaek.  What  a dickens,  an  ambassador  ! pish,  now  you  be 
a queering  a body.  An  ambassador,  sent  from  an  old 
chandler  to  Dick  Dowlas,  lawyer  Latitat’s  clerk  ? come, 
that  be  a good  one,  fegs. 

Dick.  Dick  Dowlas  1 and  lawyer’s  clerk  ! sir,  the  gentle- 
man came  to  inform  me  that  my  father,  by  being  proved 
n^xt  of  kin  to  the  late  lord,  is  now  lord  Duberly  ; by  which 
iriieans  I am  now  the  honorable  Mr.  Dowlas. 


32 


HEIU  AT  LAW. 


Zek,  Odds  flesh ! gi’  us  your  fist,  Dick ! I ne’er  shook 
the  fist  of  an  honorable,  afore,  in  all  my  born  days.  Old 
Daniel  made  a lord  ! I be  main  glad  to  hear  it.  This  be 
news,  indeed  ! but,  Dick,  I hope  he  ha’  gotten  some  ready 
along  wi’  his  title  ! for  a lord  without  money  be  but  a fool- 
ish, wish3^-washy  kind  of  a thing  a’ter  all. 

Dick,  My  father’s  estate  is  fifteen  thousand  a year, 

Zek.  Mercy  on  us ! you  ha’  ta’en  away  my  breath. 

Dick.  Well,  Zekiel,  Cis  and  you  shall  hear  from  me 
soon. 

Zek,  Why,  you  ben’t  a going,  Dick  ? 

Dick.  I must  pay  my  duty  to  his  lordship  ; his  chariot 
waits  for  me,  below.  AVe  have  been  some  time  acquainted, 
Zekiel,  and  you  may  depend  upon  my  good  offices. 

Zek.  You  do  seem  a little  flustrated  with  these  tidings, 
Dick.  I — I should  be  loth  to  think  our  kindness  was  a 
‘.ooling. 

Dick,  Oh,  no ! rely  on  my  protection. 

Zek.  AVh}^  look’ee,  Dick  Dowlas  : as  to  protection,  and 
ah  that,  we  ha’  been  old  friends  : and,  if  I should  need  it 
from  you,  it  be  no  more  nor  my  right  to  expect  it,  and 
3'our  business  to  give  it  me : but  Cicely  ha’  gotten  a place, 
and  I ha’  hand  and  health  to  get  a livelihood.  Fortune, 
good  or  bad,  tries  the  man,  the}^  do  say  ; and,  if  I should 
hap  to  be  made  a lord  to-mOrrow,  (as  who  can  say  what 
may  betide,  since  they  ha’  made  one  out  of  an  old 
chandler) — 

Dick.  Well,  sir,  and  what  then  ? 

Zjck.  AA^hy,  then,  the  finest  feather  in  my  lordship’s  cap 
would  be,  to  show  that  there  would  be  as  much  shame  in 
slighting  an  old  friend,  because  he  be  poor,  as  there  be 
pleasure  in  owning  him,  when  it  be  in  our  power  to  do  him 
service. 

Dick,  You  mistake  me,  Zekiel — I — I — ’sdeath  ! I’m 
quite  confounded  ! I’m  trying  to  be  as  fashionable  here,  as 
my  neighbors,  but  nature  comes  in,  and  knocks  it  all  on 
the  head.  {Aside.)  Zekiel,  give  me  y^our  hand. 

Zek.  Then,  there  be  a hearty  Castleton  slap  for  you.  Thje 
grasp  of  an  honest  man  can’t  disgrace  the  hand  of  a Duko, 
Dick. 

Dick.  You’ve  a kind  soul,  Zekiel,  I regard  you  sincerelyv, 
Hove  Cicely,  and — damn  it,  I’m  going  too  far  now  for  a lord’s  i 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


33 


Bon.  Pride  and  old  friendship  are  now  fighting  in  me,  till 
ll  am  almost  bewildered.  (Aside.)  You  shall  hear  from  me 
in  a few  hours.  Good-bye  I Zekiel ! good-bye ! [Exit. 

Zek.  I don’t  know  what  ails  me,  but  I be  almost  ready 
to  cry.  Dick  be  a high-mettled  youth,  and  this  news  ha’ 
put  him  a little  beside  himself  I should  make  a bit  of 
allowance.  His  heart,  I do  think,  be  in  the  right  road ; and 
when  that  be  the  cause,  he  be  a hard  judge  that  won’t  par- 
don an  old  friend’s  spirits,  when  they  do  carry  him  a little 
way  out  on’t.  [Exit. 


END  OF  ACT  II, 


ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A Hotel. 

Enter  Henry  More  and,  Stedfast,  and  a Waiter^  l. 

Wait.  These  are  the  apartments,  gentlemen. 

Henry.  They  will  do.  Leave  us. 

Wait.  AVould  you  choose  any  refreshment,  gentlemen  ? 
oui*  hotel  provides  dinners. 

Stea.  IS  o chattering : we  have  business.  (Exit  waiter.,  r.) 
Welcome,  at  last,  Mr.  Morland,  to  London.  After  wander- 
ing over  foreign  lands,  with  what  joy  an  Englishman  sets 
his  foot  on  British  ground  ! his  heart  swells  with  pleasure 
as  he  drives  through  his  fat,  native  soil,  which  ruddy  labor 
has  cultivated,  till  he  reaches  this  grand  reservoir  of  opu- 
lence : an  opulence  which  may  well  make  him  proud,  for 
its  honorable  source  is  his  countrymen’s  industry. 

Henry.  To  you,  Stedfast,  who  have  no  private  fears — no 
anxieties  for  your  family,  the  satisfaction  must  be  exquisite. 

Sted.  Why,  I am  an  old  bachelor,  ’tis  true,  and  without 
relations ; but  the  whole  country  is  my  family,  I could  not 


34 


HEIfl  AT  LAW. 


help  thinking,  as  we  posted  to  town,  that  each  jolly  peas- 
ant, and  each  cherry-cheeked  lass,  was  a kind  of  humblo 
brother  and  sister  to  me,  and  they  called  forth  my  affec- 
tions accordingly.  Eich  or  poor,  great  and  small,  we  all 
form  one  chain,  Henry.  May  the  larger  and  lesser  links 
held  kindly  together,  till  time  slides  into  eternity. 

Henry,  Truce  to  these  reflections,  now,  my  dear  Sted- 
fast ; they  do  your  heart  honor ; but  mine  is  filled  with  a 
thousand  apprehensions.  My  father,  Caroline. 

Sted,  A father,  and  a mistress  ! duty  and  love — ^that’s  a 
slow  fire,  and  a fierce  blaze  ; and,  doubt  blowing  the  bel- 
lows upon  ’em,  ’tis  enough  to  scorch  a young  soul  to  a 
cinder. 

Henry.  ’Tis  strange  I have  never  heard  from  either  of 
them.  After  escaping  the  perils  of  shipwreck  ! after  the 
sufferings  which  followed — a father,  and  a mistress  soon  to 
be  made  my  wife,  might,  surely,  have  sent  one  line,  to  tes- 
tify their  pleasure  at  my  preservation. 

Sted.  Aye,  now  make  yourself  miserable.  A young 
mind  is  too  soon  sanguine  and  therefore  too  soon  depressed. 

Henry.  Why,  what  can  be  the  reason  that  they  have 
never  noticed  my  letters  ? 

Sted.  Umph  ! there  is  one  reason,  indeed,  that — , 

Henry.  You  alarm  me  ! what  can  that  be  ? 

Sted.  That  they  have  never  received  them. 

Henry.  Impossible  ! 

Sted.  Nothing  more  likely.  Consider  your  last  letter 
from  Quebec  told  your  father,  lord  Duberly,  that  you  had 
arranged  all  the  business  which  had  called  you  there,  and 
that,  in  three  days,  you  should  embark  for  England. 

Henry.  Well,  that  he  never  answered. 

Sted.  I can’t  tell,  probably  not.  Most  people  think  it 
somewhat  superfluous  to  write  to  a correspondent  at  Que- 
bec, after  he  has  left  the  place.  * 

Henry.  Pshaw  y I’m  bewildered.  But,  since. 

Sted.  Why,  since,  the  chances  have  been  against  jou ; 
wrecked  on  our  passage — thrown  upon  the  uninhabited 
part  of  the  Island  of  Cape  Breton — 

Henry.  I shall  never  think  of  it  without  horror;  nor 
without  gratitude,  Stedfast.  To  your  friendly  care  (stran- 
gers as  we  then  were  to  each  other,)  on  that  frozen  shore 
of  desolation,  I owe  my  life. 


HEJR  AT  LAW. 


35 


Sted,  Pshaw  ! nonsense — we  hoth  met  as  fellow- passen- 
gers, and  were  fellow-sufferers  ! and  I happened  to  be  the 
toughest,  that’s  all.  To  do  as  we  would  be  done  by,  is 
merely  a part  of  our  duty.  But  there  is  so  much  fuss  made 
about  it,  that  I am  afraid  the  duty  is  too  often  neglected. 

I suppose  we  shall  soon  have  to  thank  our  shoe-black  for 
brushing  our  boots,  though  we  reward  him  for  his  business. 

Henry.  Yet  humanity,  Stedfast 

Sted.  Is  every  man’s  business ; and  the  reward  he  will 
ultimately  receive  is  far  above  human  calculation.  But 
come,  thank  providence,  and  not  me.  To  survive,  at  the 
end  of  two  months,  when  most  of  the  small  parcel  of  our 
comrades  were  dead,  or  dying  about  us,  with  cold  and 
hunger,  is  no  common  escape. 

Henry.  And  then,  in  a desperate  hope,  to  launch  our 
shattered  boat,  in  quest  of  an  inhabited  country,  and  to 
toss  about  for  two  months  more,  till,  benumbed  and  perish- 
ing, we  were  discovered  by  the  native  and  friendly  Indians. 
All  this,  Stedfast,  was  indeed  a stout  trial. 

Sted.  Then  away  with  trifling  fears,  now.  Since  our 
deliverance  we  have  changed  our  ground  daily,  on  our  re- 
turn to  England.  The  time,  the  distance — your  letters — 
theirs — all  may  have  miscarried. 

Henry.  May  it  prove  so  ! but  let  me  hasten  to  my  fath- 
er’s, and  clear  my  doubts. 

Sted.  Stay,  stay,  stay  ! you  know  it  was  at  my  request 
you  came  to  this  hotel : now,  pray,  at  my  request,  let  me 
wait  on  lord  Duberly,  to  prepare  him  for  your  appearance 

Henry.  But  for  what  purpose  ? 

Sted.  A v£ry  evident  one.  The  wreck  of  our  ship  has  ' 
doubtless,  long  been  public  in  London : and  as  the  crew 
and  passengers  ai:e  probably  all  supposed  to  have  perished, 
your  abrupt  entrance  at  your  father’s  might  be  too  much 
for  him. 

Henry.  You  are  perfectly  right.  In.  the  moment  when 
cur  passions  are  afloat,  how  beneficiMis  the  cool  judgment 
of  a friend,  to  direct  u&  ? but  should’nt  I give  you  a line  of 
introduction  to  my  father  ? 

Sted.  Umph  ! why,  according  to  usual  form,  indeed  : but 
I was  never  good  at  forms ; and  in  this  case,  it  may  be  bet- 
ter to  let  me  introduce  myself,  in  my  own  way.  I hope  lord 
Duberly  is  no  stickler  for  ceremonies. 


jo  . 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Heyi'iy.  He  has  the  manliest  virtue,  and  the  warmest 
heart  in  the  world,  my  friend  : but  I confess  to  those  who 
are  unacquainted  with  him,  these  qualities  at  first,  are  a 
little  concealed,  by  a coldness  in  manner  that 

Sted,  Oh,  I understand ; a little  stately  or  so. 

Henry.  Only  a little  of  the  vielle  cour  about  him.  A long 
habit  of  haranging  in  parliament  gives  a man  a kind  of  dig- 
nit}  of  deportment,  and  an  elevation  of  style,  not  met  witn 
eveiy  day,  you  krow.  But  gentleman,  is  written  legibly 
on  his  brow — erudition  shines  through  every  polished 
period  of  his  language — and  he  is  the  best  of  men  and 
•fathers,  believe  me. 

Sted.  Aye,  aye ! I see,  I see  ! — grand  and  stiff,  but  of 
sterling  value,  like  an  old-fashioned  silver  candlestick.  Well, 
I’ll  soon  bring  you  an  account  of  my  embassy. 

Henry.  And,  while  you  are  at  my  father’s,  I will  walk 
to  Mr.  Dormer’s.  My  suspense  about  Caroline,  is  intoler- 
able. I must  See  the  good  old  gentleman,  and  he  will  break 
my  arrival  to  his  daughter. 

Sted.  Meet  me,  then,  here,  in  a couple  of  hours. 

Henry.  Be  it  so.  A thousand  thanks,  my  dear  Stedfast. 

Sted.  A thousand  fiddlesticks ! I hate  to  be  thanked 
a thousand  times,  for  a trifle.  I know  ’tis  the  language 
of  the  day,  but  modern  complimentary  cant  is  the  coinage 
of  dishonesty — for  the  profession  exceeds  the  feeling — and 
nine  men  in  ten,  who  give  it  under  their  hands  that  they  are 
your  devoted  humble  servants,  pledge  themselves  to  you 
for  much  more  than  they  ever  mean  to  perform.  \^Exeu7it. 


Scene  II. — An  Apartment  in  Lord  Duberly’s  House. 

Lady  Duberly  and  Dr.  Pangloss  discovered. 

Lady  D.  And  how  does  my  lord  come  on  with  his  learn- 
ing, doctor  ? 

Pang.  Apt,  very  apt,  indeed,  for  nis  age.  Defective  in 
nothing  now,  but  words,  phrases,  and  grammar. 

Lady  D.  I wish  you  could  learn  him  to  follow  my  ex 
ample,  and  be  a-  little  genteel ; but  there  is  no  making  a 
silk  purse  out  :>f  a sow’s  ear,  they  say. 


HEIK.  AT  LAW. 


37 


ner’d  youth  in  Christendom. 

iS;  i assure  you. 

"^'pawl^^Vur^readingTWm  be  various,  logic,  ethics,  and 

tViAmatics • history  foreign  and  domestic;  geography, 
“'‘•.rlnd  miderT’  Vages  and  travels;  antiquities 

BrTtish  aud  foreign ; natural  history  ; lettre^and 

philosophy;  classics;  arts  and  sciences , belles  lettres,  a a 

“SrS!' Bless  me!  >tis  enough  to  batter  the  poor  boy’s 

brains  to  a mummy. 

Pang.  “ A little  learning-—— 

Lady  D.  Little?  A load  . TTpin  I 

Pan%  Is  a dangerous  thing.”  Pope.  Hem  1 
Lady  D.  And  you  have  left  out  the  mam  article 
Pang.  What  may  your  ladyship  mean  . 

"S:  |.”g£>e“pS-pW,  touch 

S'd.  Between  whiles,  you  might  give  Dick  a lesson 
or  tSo  in  the  hall;-as  my  lord’s  valet 
will  be  quite  handy  to  have  you  both  m the  house,  you 

^'^^Pang.  This  is  a damn’d  barbarous  old  ."'oman. 

With  submission  to  your  ladyship,  my  business  is 

M:o  tells  U.0  that  th, 

he^of  voSoo  men  of  fashion,  now  a-days.  are  by  no 

mei  ovwloafed.  They  are  all  left  to  the  barber  an! 
dentist 


38 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Pang,  ’Twould  be  daring  to  dispute  so  self-evident  an 
axiom.  But,  if  yOur  ladyship 

Lady  Look  ye,  doctor , -he  must  learn  to  dance  and 
jabber  French ; and  I wouldn’t  give  a brass  farden  for  any 
thing  else.  I know  what’s  elegance  and  you’ll  find  the 
grey  mare  the  better  horse,  in  this  house,  I promise  you. 

Pang,  Her  ladyship  is  paramount.  Dux  famina 
factiy  Virgil.  Hem ! {aside).  • 

Lady  D.  What’s  your  pay  here,  Mr.  Tutorer  ? 

Pang.  Three  hundred  pounds  per  annum  : — that  is — six 
— ^no,  three — no — ay — no  matter  : — the  rest  is  between  me 
and  Mr.  Dowlas,  {aside.) 

Lady  D.  Do  as  I direct  you  in  private,  and,  to  prevent 
words.  I’ll  double  it. 

Pang.  Double  it ! what,  again ! nine  hundred  per  an- 
num ! {aside.)  I’ll  take  it,  “ your  hand ; a covenant.” — • 
Shakspeare.  Hem  ! zounds,  I’ve  got  beyond  the  reading, 
at  last ! 

“ Fve  often  wished  that  I had,  clear, 

For  life’’ — 

[Lord  D.  speaks  ivithouX 

I hear,  my  lord — 

“ Nine  hundred  pounds  a year.” 

Swift.  Hem ! 

Enter  lord  Duberly  and  Dick  Dowlas,  r. 

Loi'd  D.  Come  along,  Dick  ! here  he  is  again,  my  lady. 
Twist,  the  tailor,  happen’d  to  come  in  promiscuously,  as  I 
may  say,  and - 

Pang.  Accidentally,  my  lord,  would  be  better. 

Lord  D.  Ay,  accidentally  ; — with  a suit  of  my  lord  Dock- 
tail’s  under  his  arm  : — and,  as  we  was  in  a bit  of  a rumpus 
to  rig  out  Dick,  why 

Pang.  Dress,  not  rig — unless  metaphorically 

Lord  D.  Well — to  dress  out — why,  we — hump  ! doctor, 
don’t  bother,  in  short,  we  popp’d  Dick  into  ’em ; and, 
Twist  says,  they  hit  to  a hair. 

Dick.  Yes,  they  are  quite  the  dandy;  aren’t  they,  mo- 
ther ? — this  is  all  the  go,  they  say ; cut  straight,  that’s  the 
thing  : — square  waist — wrap  over  the  knee,  and  all  that 
Slouch  is  the  word,  now,  you  know. 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


39 


Lady  D.  Exceeding  genteel,  I declare  ! turn  about, 
’Dick ; they  don’t  pitch,  do  they  ? 

Dick  Oh  no  ! lust  as  if  I’d  been  measured. 

. Lord  D.  Pitch  ? lord  love  you,  my  lady,  they  sit  like  a 
sack.  But  why  don’t  you  stand  up  ? the  boy  rolls  about 

^'^I)icF°T*hat’s  the  fashion,  father ! that’s  ™odem  ease. 
Youno-  Vats,  the  beau  brewer,  from  the  borough,  brought 
it  down,  last  Christmas,  to  Castleton.  A young  fellow  is 
nothing,  now,  without  the  Bond  street  roll,  a tooth-pick 
betwefn  his  teeth,  and  his  knuckles  cramm  <i  into  his  coat 
pocket.  Then,  away  you  go,  lounging  lazily  along-  a , 
Tom  l-what.  Will  rolling  away,  you  see ! how  are  you. 
Jack  ?-what,  my  little  Dolly  ! ^that’s  the  way,  isn  t it, 

^°Ladv  D.  The  very  air  and  grace  of  our  young  nobility  ! 

Lm'd  D,  Is  it  ? grace  must  have  got  plaguy  limber,  and 
lopt,  of  late,  there’s  the  last  lord  Duberly’s  father,  done  in 
our  dining  room,  with  a wig  as  wide  as  a wash  tub,  and 
stuck  up  as  stiff  as  a poker.  He  was  one  of  your  tip  tops, 
tL,  in  his  time,  they  tell  me;  he  carried  a gold  stick  be- 

^°i5rif.^Yesf'2d  looks,  for  all  the  world,  as  straight 

SCmalter  for  that,  my  lady.  What  signifies 
dignity  without  its  crackeristick.  Aman  diould  knowhow 
to  bemean  himself,  when  he  is  as  rich  as 

Pans  Plutus,  if  you  please,  my  lord.  Pluto,  no  doubt, 
hafaSpS,  and  foUe^-.  of  fashion  ;^bnt  Plnt«a  ■»  the 
ruler  of  riches  yev  UXaorov  ejeivaro.  Heaod. 

. D.  There,  Dick!  d’ye  hear  how  the  tutorer  talks? 

‘ odd  rabbit,  he  can  ladle  you  out  Latin  by  the  quart ; and 
' grunts  Greek  like  a pig.  Pve  gin  hiin  three  hundred  a 
fear,  and  settled  all  he’s  to  larn  you.  Ha’n’t  I,  doctor? 

^ Pang.  Certainly,  my  lord.  “ Thrice  to  thine- 
•'V'  Dick.  Yes,  %ve  know  all  about  that.  Don  t we,  doctoi  ? 

* Pang.  Decidedly,-"  and  thrice  to  thine-^’ 

Ladv  D Ave,  aye;  clearly  understood.  Isn  tit,  doctor? 
Pans.  TJndoubtedly-"  And  thrice  again  to  make  up 
nine.”  ° Shakspeare.  Hem!  \these  three  quotations  aside. 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


iO 


Enter  John,  r. 


John,  A card,  my  lord.  The  gentleman  waits  in  the 
eating  room,  and  wishes  to  see  your  lordship  on  particular 
business.  [gives  a card. 

Lord  D,  Muster  Stedfast ! never  heard  of  the  name. 
Curse  me,  my  lad,  tell  him  I’ll  be  with  him  in  the  t\vinklino^ 
o abed-^st.  ^ John,  r.  ^ 

L,ady  1),  I shall  go  with  your  lordship  through  the  gal- 
lery; for  I must  dress  to  attend  lady  Betty. 

Lord  D,  Come  along,  then,  my  lady.  Dick,  go  with  the 
tutorer ; he  11  give  you  a lesson  in  my  library.  Plenty  of  larn- 
mg  there,  I promise  you.  I was  at  it  all  of  a row,  this  here 
very  morning.  There’s  all  Horace’s  operas,  doctor ; and 
such  a sight  of  French  books ! but  I see  by  the  backs  they 
are  aJ  written  by  Tom.  Come  along,  my  lady. 

[Exeunt  ^ord  and  Lady  Duberly,  l. 
ang.  On  what  subject,  Mr.  Dowlas,  shall  we  commence 
our  researches  this  evening  ? 

Lick,  I ell  ’em  to  light  up  the  billiard  room,  we’ll  knock 
about  the  balls  a little. 

Pang,  Knock  about  the  balls ! an  admirable  entrance 
upon  a course  of  studies  ! 

DicJc,  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  game  ? 

^ng.  I know  how  to  pocket,  young  gentleman  ? 

Dick,  bo  do  most  tutors,  doctor. 

If  I could  but  persuade  you  to  peep  into  a classic— 
Dick.  Peep  ! why,  you  prig  of  a fellow,  don’t  I pay  you 
because  I won  t peep  ? talk  of  this  again,  and  I’m  off  in 
our  contract. 

Pang.  Are  you  ? I’m  dumb— “ Mammon  leads  me  on.” 
Milton.  Hem  ! I follow.  iExeunt  l. 


Scene  III. — Another  apartment  in  Lord  Duberly’s  hm&e. 
Enter  Stedfast,  l. 

Sted.  A noble  house,  faith  ! and  bespeaks  some  of  that 
stately  dmnity  m the  owner,  which  my  friend  Harry  hinted 
to  me.  His  lordship,  I warrant,  is  as  stiff  as  buckram ; 
keep  p^^^h^  d'splay  of  language,  that  puzzles  a man  to 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


41 


Enter  John,  r. 

John,  My  lord’s  compliments,  sir ; and  he’ll  be  wiili  you 
in  the  twinkling  of  a bed-post.  [Exit,  r. 

Sted.  Zounds  ! that’s  the  oddest  phrase  for  a fine  spoken 
peer,  I ever  met  with.  The  ignorance  of  the  servant,  I 
suppose.  Those  blockheads  never  know  how  to  deliver  a 
message.  Oh,  here  he  comes. 

Enter  Lord  Duberly,  r. 

Your  lordship’s  most  obedient  servant.  [boivs. 

Lord  D.  (bowing  vulgarly.)  Sir,  you’re  kindly  welcome. 

Sted.  Kindly  welcome  ! condescending,  at  least;  but  not 
quite  so  dignified  as  I expected,  (aside.)  I am  a rough 
traveler,  my  lord,  ungifted  with  your  lordship’s  flow  of  dic- 
tion ; and  having  real  business,  I trust,  that,  without  fur- 
ther preface,  I may  plead  my  apology. 

Lord  D.  Aye,  aye,  business  is  business  : and  fine  words, 
you  know,  butter  no  parsnips. 

Sted.  Butter  no  parsnips!  why,  he’s  sneering  at  my 
plainness : or  I have  mistaken  the  person — or — (aside.) — I 
have  the  honor,  I think,  of  addressing  lord  Duberly  ? 

Lord  E.  To  be  sure  you  have,  as  sure  as  eggs  is  eggt 
Come,  take  a chair,  muster.  Mayhap  you  may  choose  a 
morsel  of  summat  ? 

Sted.  Not  anything  ; I 

Lord  L>.  Don’t  say  no.  A drop  of  wine  now,  or  a 
sneaker  of  punch,  or — 

Sted.  Nothing,  my  lord.  I am  thunderstruck  ? [aside: 

Lord  D.  ell,  now  then  for  this  here  bit  of  business. 

Sted.  1 have  some  fears,  my  lord,  that  I might  be  too 
abrupt  in  the  disclosure  ; but  since  this  introduction 

Lord  D.  Gh  rot  it ! I was  never  for  long  rigmaroles,  not 
I.  An  honest  man’s  meaning  needs  no  flourishes.  Hon- 
esty is  like  a good  piece  of  English  roast  beef.  Muster 
Stedfast;  it  lacks  little  garnish,  and  the  more  plainer,  the 
more  palatabler.  That’s  my  sentiment. 

Sted.  I admire  your  sentiment,  my  lord,  but  I can’t  say 
much  for  your  language,  (aside.) — I must  inform  your  lord- 
ship  that  no  great  length  of  time  has  elapsed  since  I left~ 
do  not  be  agitated — Quebec,  in  America. 


12 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Lord  D.  A Yankee  Doodle,  mayhap  ? 

Sted,  A Yankee  Doo — I am  not  an  American,  my  lord. 

l^Rises. 

Lord  D.  'No  offence  to  you  ; but  seeing  you  have  got  a 
tawneyish  tinge,  (rises,)  I thought  you  might  be  a little 
outlandish. 

Sted.  I shall  ever  be  proud,  my  lord,  in  being  able  to 
say  that  I am  an  Englishman  ; but  I should  suppose  any 
person  recently  arriving  from  the  counti*y  I have  named, 
must  sensibty  interest  your  feelings. 

Lord  D.  Interest  my — why,  what’s  he  at  ? if  I seem  not 
to  understand,  now,  I shall  make  some  plaguy  hole  in  my 
manners,  I warrant.  (Aside.) 

Sted.  1 perceive  by  your  silence,  that  your  lordship  is 
affected.  A person  in  your  situation,  cannot  naturally  be 
otherwise. 

Lord  D.  Then  it’s  the  fashion,  I find,  for  a peer  to  be  in 
a pucker  when  anybody  comes  from  Quebec,  in  America. 

l^Aside. 

Sted.  Pray,  inform  me,  my  lord,  have  you  received  any 
letter  from  your  son,  since  he  wrote  to  advise  you  that  he 
had  finished  the  business  which  induced  you  to  send  him 
from  home,  and  that  he  was  immediately  preparing  to  meet 
you  in  London  ? 

Lord  B.  Since  that  ? No,  to  be  sure.  Why,  lord  love 
you,  he  set  out  directly  a'ter  it  on  purpose  to  come. 

Sted.  And  your  lordship  has  heard  no  news  from  any  of 
his  fellow-passengers  ? 

Lord.  B.  Eellow-passengers  ! No,  not  I — neither  inside 
nor  out. 

Sted.  Inside  nor  out ! ’tis  plain,  however,  that  we  are  all 
supposed  to  have  gone  to  the  bottom. — (Aside.)  Know 
then,  my  lord,  I was  his  fellow-passenger. 

Lord  B.  Was  you  ? You  are  just  come  up,  then,  it 
seems. 

Sted.  Come  up  ! this  is  an  easy  way  of  talking  to  a man 
supposed  to  be  drowned.  (Aside.)  I am  here,  you  see,  my 
lord;  but  providence  be* praised,  it  was  never  my  fate  to 
go  down. 

Lord  B.  Well,  well,  that’s  no  matter  of  mine.  Your  fate 
may  have  laid  another  way,  to  be  sure,  as  you  saj^. 

Sted.  Another  way  1 zounds,  he  can’t  dare  to  insinuate 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


43 


that  I was  born  to  be  bang’d.  He  appears  ttie  most  igno- 
rant, unfeeling-(asi^^e.)  Here  me,  my  lord,-has  your  son 

ever  been  dear  to  you  • . , , ^ 

Lord  D.  Plaguy  dear,  indeed,  Muster  fetedfast.  Only 

ax  Dr.  Pangloss.  i j t.* 

Sted.  An  intimate,  I suppose,  to  whom  your  lordship 

has  unburthened  your  mind,  in  private.  . _ 

Lord  D.  Yes:  he  mends  my  cakelology  every  morning , 
and  is,  moreover,  a great  philosopher. 

Sted.  On  such  an  occasion  a father  might  well  call  in 
philosophy  to  his  assistance. 

Lord  D.  I hired  him  o’  purpose. 

Sted  Hired  him ! hired  a philosopher  to  console  him  tor 
the  death  of  his  son  ! delicacy  is  superfluous  bore,  1 see. 
(aside.)  In  short,  my  lord,  I come  to  inform  you,  that  your 
son,  lost  as  he  has  beeii  to  the  world,  has  newly  and  unex- 
pectedly entered  into  life. 

Well,  and  what  then?  _ 

Sted.  What  then  !-The  brutal  apathy  m this  post  of  a 
peer,  makes  me  ready  to  beat  him.  (aside.)  why,  then 
he  has  this  day  arrived  in  town ; here,  in  this  very  metro- 

D.  Why,  what  signifies  a cock  and  a bull  story 

about  what  I know  already  ? t? 

Sted.  Know  it ! it  must  then  be  by  inspiration.  Jiy 
what  supernatural  sign  have  you  discovered  his  arrival . 

Lord  D.  What  sign  ? Why  damme,  a Blue  Boar. 

Sted.  My  lord,  my  lord  '■  ignorance,-little,  indeed,  from 
die  account  I received  from  a blindly  affectionate  youtn, 
did  I expect  to  And  it  here  ;-ignorance  may  palliate  mean- 
ness and  buffoonery,  and  merely  meet  contempt;  but  want 
of  feelino-s  excite  indignation.  You  have  shocx.d  me,  and 
1 leave  you.  From  exalted  rank,  like  yours,  my  lord,  men 
look  for  exalted  virtue;  and,  when  these  are  coupled,  thcj 
command  respect,  and  grace  each  other  : hut  the  coronet, 
which  gives  and  receives  splendor,  when  fixed  on  the  brow 
ol*  merit,  glitters  on  the  worthless  head,  like  a mark  of  dis- 
grace, to  render  vice,  folly,  and  inhumanity  conspicuous. 

Lord  D.  That  there  chap’s  mad.  He  has  put  me  all  of 
a twitter.  If  my  lady  had  happen’d  to  be  here,  I’m  sure 
she’d  have  perspired  with  fear.  J ohn  1 


u 


HEIR  AT  LAW 


Enter  John,  r. 

John.  My  lord. 

Lo7'd  D.  Has  the  porter  let  out  that  there  man  ? 

John.  Yes,  my  lord. 

LiOrd  D.  Never  let  him  clap  his  damned  ugly  mug  itta 
tnese  doors  again.  He’s  as  mad  as  any  poor  soul  under  a 
state  of  lunacy.  Shut  the  doors,  d’ye  hear?  {Exit^  John, 
L.)  Odd  rabbit  it!  if  peers  are  to  be  frightened  into  this 
here  fashion,  I’d  rather  serve  soap  and  candles  again  in 
comfort,  at  Gosport.  \^Exit^  r. 


Scene  IV. — Another  apartment  in  Lord  Duberly’s  house. 

Enter  Dick  Dowlas  and  Zekiel  Homespun,  l. 

Eick.  Well,  but  at  this  unreasonable  time,  to— 

Zek.  I couldn’t  help  it,  Dick. 

Dick.  ’Tisn’t  the  fashion  to  pay  a visit,  at  this*  time  in 
the  evening.  Who  let  you  in  ? 

Zek.  Why,  a fat  man  in  the  hall,  that  popp’d  out  of  a 
leather  chair,  that  comes  all  over  his  head  like  a tub. 

Dick.  The  porter,  I suppose. 

Zek.  Belike  it  was.  He  has  tassels  a top  of  his  shoul- 
ders ; and  a sight  of  binding,  that  looks  like  parsley  and 
butter,  about  his  waistcoat. 

Dick.  But  why  did  you  come  now  ? 

Zek.  Why,  I do  tell  ye,  I was  uneasy  about  ye,  Dick.  1 
couldn’t  ha’  staid  away,  if  I was  to  be  hang’d  for’t.  You 
did  promise  to  meet  us,  this  a’ternoon. 

Dick.  I have  been  prevented.  AYe  jmung  fellows  ot 
fashion  can’t  answer  for  our  hours. 

Zek.  Ah,  Dick,  London  fashions  and  friendship,  I do 
fear  do  seldom  long  go  cheek  by  jowl.  I ha’  just  left 
Cicel}^  at  the  place. 

Dick.  AVell,  and  what  of  her,  Zekiel? 

Zek.  Poor  soul  1 she  ha’  been  sobbing  ready  to  burst  her 
heart. 

Dick.  Cicely  in  tears  I — ^for  what  ? 

Zek.  All  along  o’  you,  man.  You  did  promise  to  come  ; 
md  she  do  tell  me,  she  ne’er  know’d  you  break  your  wmrd 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


45 


ill  you  were  made  a gentleman.  I said  all  1 could  think 
if  to  comfort  her. 

W ell,  and  what  did  you  say  ? 

Zel\  Why,  I told  her  that  you  had  always  dealt  fair  and 
»pen  with  her  till  now ; and,  it  you  could  be  honest  to  her 
vhen  you  were  a lawyer,  there  might  be  some  hope  of 
our  being  so  now,  even  though  you  be  made  an  honorable. 

Dick.  Well,  well,  I shall  see  her  to-morrow,  and  see  you, 
00,  Zekiel ; and  settle  some  plan  for  her,  and — 

Zek.  Plan ! why  the  plan  be  settled  already,  you  do 
mow.  She  be  in  a place,  and — 

Dick.  Pshaw ! in  place  will  never  do.  I have  a liking 
or  her,  you  know  : and  when — 

Zek.  A liking? 

Dick.  Yes,  that’s  a love,  you  know;  and  a regard  for 
'ou,  Zekiel ; and — in  short,  a girl  on  whom  lord  Duberly’s 
on  has  fixed  his  affections,  must  not  remain  in  service  ; it 
vould  disgrace  one  of  us. 

Zek.  It  can’t  disgrace  one  of  Dick.  A good  girl, 
vho  has  lost  her  parent’s  support,  and  do  get  her  bread  in 
lonest  industry,  be  a pride,  instead  of  a disgrace,  to  any 
hat  loves  her,  you  do  know. 

Dick.  I didn’t  mean  that — I — 

Zek.  No,  no  : bless  you,  ’twere  only  your  good  will  run 
Lway  wi’  you.  You  do  wish  us  well,  Dick — ^ou  do  wish 
o serve  us,  and  overshot  yourself  a little  in  what  you  said, 
hat  be  all. 

Dick.  Why,  look  ye,  Zekiel.  You  are  a well-meaning 
ad — 

Zek.  Aye,  and  so  be  you,  Dick.  I were  getting  a bit 
iffish  wi’  you  at  the  Blue  Boar.  I did  think  sudden  pride 
vere  going  to  turn  you  topsy-turvy.  I was  angry  at  my- 
lelf  afterwards ; but  I do  beg  your  pardon — ^heartily,  my 
jood  friend,  faith,  heartil}^ 

Dick.  Nay,  hear  me;  ’tis  fit  we  should  understand  one 
mother ; \vhich  we  do  not  seem  to  do,  at  present. 

Zek.  Don’t  us,  ecod ! I should  be  grieved  at  that,  Dick. 

Dick.  Listen  to  me;  my  situation,  you  see,  is  much 
iltered. 

Zek.  Woundily,  indeed  ! here  be  a house ! and  what  a 
)rave  coat  you  ha’  gotten  on,  Dick  ! 

Dick.  No  matter : but,  there  are  situations  in  the  w'orld, 


46 


HEIit  AT  LAW. 


Zekiel,  that  do  not  always  tally.  Chance  may  remove  one 
man  so  far  from  another,  in  the  rank  of  life,  that,  though 
their  good  will  may  continue  the  same,  custom  requires 
that  they  should  not  live  exactly — mind,  I say,  not  exactly^  on 
the  same  footing. 

Zek,  I see  what  you  be  driving  at,  Dick : I see  it ; I did 
fear  it  all  along.  Well,  well,  I — I do  know.  I ben’t  com- 
pany for  a lord’s  son  ; but  w^hen  a lord  was  once  a chan- 
dler, I thought,  indeed — ^no  matter.  Bless  thee,  Dick ; I 
shall  always  wish  thee  well ! 

Dick,  Nay,  nay,  I don’t  mean  that  we  should  separate. 
On  the  contrary,  I wish  we  may  be  closer  in  friendship  than 
ever. 

Zek.  Ah,  Dick ! I have  loved  thee — I’d  ha’  parted  with 
my  last  farthing  to — ^no  matter. 

Dick.  There  is  no  occasion  to  take  it  in  this  manner.  We 
may  both  be  rich — both  happy,  Zekiel : but  you  know  how 
impossible  it  is  for  the  son  of  a peer  to  marry  your  sister. 

Zek.  Aye,  aye,  I do  see  it ; it  be  all  over  ! 

Dick.  No  reason  for  that  on  earth ; for,  though  the  world 
places  a distance  between  Cis  and  me,  as  to  matrimony,  yet 
it  makes  an  allowance  for  everything  else. 

Zek.  I don’t  understand  ye,  Dick. 

Dick.  Why,  my  rank  not  permitting  the  usual  forms  be- 
tween us,  which  my  regard  for  her  happiness  makes  me 
wish  could  take  place,  all  I can  now  do,  is  to  raise  her  from 
future  fear  of  poverty;  and  we  may  be  man  and  wife  in 
everything  but  the  ceremony. 

Zek.  Oh  ! now  I understand  ye.  You  be  a rascal.  Odds 
flesh!  I shall  choke.  A damned  rascal!  keep  out  o’  my 
way,  or  I may  do  you  a mischief. 

Dick.  Nay,  but — 

Zek.  Dick,  Dick!  had  a stranger  done  this,  I’d  ha’ 
knocked  him  down  ; but  for  a dear  friend  to  turn  traitor— 
{bursU  into  tears,)  damme,  it’s  too  much,  I can’t  stand  it ! 

Dick.  Well,  but  only  hear  me — 

Zek.  I ha’  heard  too  much  already.  Rot  it!  I be 
ashamed  to  be  such  a blubberer : but  the  greatest  shame 
do  light  upon  you. 

Dick,  {abashed.)  I begin  to  feel  that  it  does,  Zekiel. 

Zek.  And  well  you  may.  If  it  be  the  part  of  a lord’s  son 
to  stab  his  friend  to  the  heart,  by  robbing  his  sister  of  her 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


47 


lonesty,  much  good  may  it  do  you  wi’  your  grandeur.  Bui 
et  me  tell  your  grandeur  this,  Mr.  Dowlas ; you  do  know 
;om’at  (little  enow  to  be  sure)  of  the  law ; and  the  law  of 
he  land  do  make  no  difference  ’twixt  a peer  and  a plough- 
nan.  If  you  dare  to  hurt  Cicely,  the  law  shall  lay  you  flat, 
n the  first  place,  and  my  ploughman’s  fist,  in  the  second : 
ind  so,  my  service  to  you  ! {Exit  l. 

Dick,  My  heart  upbraids  me.  I have  wounded  at  one 
flow,  an  honest  man,  and  an  innocent  girl,  whom  reason 
ind  inclination  tell  me  to  love.  Now,  am  I so  mere  a be- 
!;inner,  that  whether  this  is,  or  is  not  fashion,  curse  me  if  I 
mow : but  I have  been  told  it  is.  I must  go  deeper  into 
ts  mysteries,  or  abstain  from  it  altogether ; and  I feel  so 
Quch  pain  already,  that  in  the  same  career  of  fashion,  where 
eeling  they  say  is  banished,  I shall  make  a very  awkward 
igure.  {Exit^  r. 

END  OF  ACT  III. 


ACT  IV. 

Scene  I. — Caroline’s  lodgings, 

Iekiel  and  Cicely  Homespun  discovered^  seated.  Cicely 
crying,^  and  leaning  on  Zekiel. 

7jek,  Do  ye,  do  ye  cheer  up  a bit,  sister  Cicely ! don’t  ye 
ike  on  so ; don’t  ye  now  ! 

Cic,  Oh,  Zekiel ! for  certain  my  poor  heart  will  break. 
Zek,  Don’t  ye  say  so.  Cicely ; for  that  would  go  nigh  to 
reak  mine. 

Cic,  I never  will  give  ear  to  a lovyer’s  vows  again  as 
)ng  as  I do  breathe. 

Zek,  Aye,  that  bo  what  all  the  girls  do  say,  over  and 
ver. 


48 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Cic.  A base  perjury  man ! 

ZeJc,  That  he  be.  He  ha’  stung  me  to  the  quick.  . 
viper  ! and  to  offer  to  abuse  you — damn  him. 

Cic,  Oh,  don’t  j^ou  say  that  of  him,  Zekiel.  I can’t  bej 
that  though  he  ha’  been  so  cruel  to  me. 

TjcIc,  Then  pluck  up  a bit  of  spirit,  now ; pray  you,  d 
You  ha’  gotten  a good  place,  you  do  know : and  thin^ 
will  go  well  enough,  I warrant  us.  How  dost  like  madar 
eh.  Cicely  ? 

Cic.  Purely ! she  is  so  tender  and  kind  to  me,  Zekie 
Heigho  ! 

Zek,  Come,  dry  your  eyes,  now.  Cicely.  I be  main  gh 
to  hear  madam  be  so  good  to  you.  What  did  you  do,  aft( 
I left  you,  last  night  ? 

Cic.  Why,  I was  but  poorly,  Zekiel.  I had  been  cryin] 
you  know. 

Zek.  Yes,  yes  ; but  don’t  ye  cry  any  more.  Cicely. 

Cic.  And  when  madam  Caroline  saw  it,  she  was  so  kini 
and  so  comfortable  to  me ! 

Zek.  Was  she  ? good  soul ! 

Cic.  And  she  bid  me  go  to  rest,  and  spoke  as  sweet,  an 
took  as  much  care  of  me — as  poor  mother  used  to  do. 

Zek.  Bless  her  for  it.  If  I ever  be  able  to  make  a retui 
I’ll 

Cic.  Dear,  I hear  her  in  the  next  room  1 she  is  up  ; am 
if  she  should  catch  us  here — there  now. 

Enter  Caroline. 

Car.  Cicely,  child — I thought  you  had  not  risen.  ^ 
did’nt  wish  you  to  attend,  if  you  are  unwell,  my  poor  gii 

Cic.  Thank  you,  madam. 

Zek.  Thank  you,  very  kindly,  madam. 

Car.  Oh,  your  brother,  I see. 

Zek.  At  your  humble  service,  madam.  I made  bold  1 
call  to  see  how  sister  were ; and  to  make  my  humble  dui 
to  you,  madam.  Cicely  do  tell  me  you  ha’  been  main  kir 
to  her.  We  be  poor,  madam,  but  I do  hope  you  will  1 
pleased  to  take  our  thanks,  without  offence. 

Car.  Offence  1 honest  friend.  To  merit  and  receive  tl 
thanks  of  the  poor  is  one  of  the  heart’s  best  gratificatioE 

Zek.  She  be  main  good-natured,  indeed  ! I — I — had  a- 
little  bit  of  a favor  to  ask,  madam. 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


49 


Car.  What  is  it,  friend  ? 

Zek.  Why,  here  be  a scrap  of  paper,  here ; it  were  poor 
father’s.  If  you  would  be  pleased  to  tell  me,  if  it  be  worth 
unything,  now  it  be  so  old.  [ Giving  it. 

Car,  It  is  worth  enquiring  after.  ’Tis  an  old  lottery 
ticket.  [^Returning  it, 

Zek,  Pshaw — then  it  be  of  little  good.  Father  had  no 
luck  that  way ; but,  for  all  mother  could  say,  he  was  al- 
ways a dabbling,  and 'a  dabbling.  I’ll  seek  about  it  at 
shop,  tho’.  I do  wish  you  a dutiful  good  morning,  madam 

Car,  A good  day,  friend. 

Zek:  {apart  to  Cicely)  Pluck  up  a spirit,  do  you  now, 
Cicely  ? Gi’  me  a buss.  There,  now  let  that  comfort  ye  a 
bit.  I’ll  call  by  and  bye.  A good  day  to  you,  madam. 

\_Exit^  L. 

Car.  You  do  not  look  recovered  yet.  Cicely. 

Cic,  I shall  be  better  in  time,  if  you  please,  madam. 

Car.  Come,  child,  you  must  not  give  way  to  low  spirits 
Your  situation  is  new  to  you,  indeed  : but  this  fickle  world 
is  full  of  changes.  Cicely. 

Cic.  {crying)  Oh,  dear  me — sure  enough,  this  world  is 
full  of  fickleness  and  change. 

Cur.  Well,  but  do  not  cry  thus,  child. 

I Cic,  I must  cry,  if  you  please,  madam : I can’t  help  it 
indeed,  I can’t. 

Car,  Poor  girl ! — does  any  thing  press  heavily  on  your 
mind.  Cicely  ? 

Cic.  Ye — yes,  madam. 

Car,  What  is  it  ? is  it  in  my  ability  to  relieve  you  ? 

Cic,  Oh,  no,  madam.  ’Tis  quite  out  of  your  power  to 
give  me  what  I have  lost. 

Car,  Lost  child  ! have  you  lost  any  thing  since  you  came 
to  London? 

Cic.  Yes,  madam. 

Car.  Your  clothes  ? or  a parcel  ? or— 

Cic.  No,  madam. 

Car.  What  then,  child  ? 

Cic.  A young  man,  madam. 

Car.  Lost  a young  man,  Cicely  ? 

Cic.  He  was  once  the  truest  hearted  youth  ! lawyer 
Latitat’s  clerk,  of  our  town,  if  you  please,  madam.  Wo 
were  to  be  married — ]>rother  was  agreeable  to  it — and  now 


50 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


he  has  basely  left  me : and  all  because  he  has  grown  rich 

and  great.  . , ^ 

Car,  "What,  since  last  night ! that  is  somewhat  saddeD, 

indeed  ! 

Cic,  Ay,  I should  as  soon  have  look’d  to  be  queen,  as  to 
think  my  Dick  would  be  made  a lord’s  son. 

Car,  Made  a lord’s  son ! how,  Cicely  ? 

Cic,  I don’t  know  how  they  make  lord’s  sons,  madam  : 
but  his  father  has  had  good  fortune,  by  a death  j and  so 
Dick  is  now  son  to  lord  Duberly. 

Car,  Lord  Duberly ! good  heavens ! how  that  name 
agitates  me  ! — the— the  present  Lord  Duberly,  you  mean, 
Cicely  ? 

Cic.  Yes,  if  you  please,  madam.  The  last  lord — Zekiel 
heard  it  all  from  the  porter— the  last  lord’s  son  was  drowned 
at  sea,  they  say.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  on’t,  madam  r 
Car.  {agitated.)  I have,  I have,  indeed.  Cicely. 

Cic.  Oh,  dear  ! arn’t  you  well,  madam  ? 

Car.  Yes— I— I— ’tis  nothing  Cicely.  And  so  your  lever, 
my  poor  wench,  has  deserted  you. 

Cic.  Oh,  worse  than  that,  madam.  Brother  is  almost 
out  of  his  wits  about  it ; for  he  said — a base,  cruel  man ! 
he  would  make  my  fortune,  by  ruinating  me.  ' 

Car.  Poor  simplicity  ! dry  up  your  tears,  my  good  girl 
and  rather  rejoice  that  you  have  escaped  the  snares  of  i 
profligate.  You  shall  not  want  protection  while  I can  give 

it  you.  ^ , 

Cic.  Heaven  bless  you.  You  are  very,  rery  kind 

madam. 


Enter  Kenrick,  hastily,  l. 


Ken.  Och,  Miss  Caroline ! 

Car.  Well,  Kenrick. 

Ken.  Och,  why  didn’t  I die  before  I was  born  to  see  tin 
ill  looking  day. 

Car.  Why,  what’s  the  matter  r . ^ 

Ke:i.  The  matter,  and  hav’nt  I trotted  into  Lc  mbari 
street  to  get  your  draught  turned  into  money  ? 

Car.  To  be  sure ; there  lies  the  little  which  I now  po« 

sess,  Kenrick.  , , , 

Ken.  Paith,  and  it  lies  there,  like  my  ould  uncle  JJennii 


HEIR  AT  LAW.  51 

h Carrickfergus  churchyard ; for  we  shall  never  see  it 
igain,  as  long  as  we  live. 

Car,  Good  heavens,  you  alarm  me  ’—surely  the  house 
las  not  failed  ? 

Ken,  No,  faith ; the  house  stands  plump  and  upright, 
ust  where  it  did ; but  the  ould  thief  of  a banker  hasn’t  a 
hirteen  left  to  cross  his  rogue’s  hand  with. 

Car,  Broke ! 

Ken,  By  my  soul,  all  to  shivers ; and  so  bad,  they  say, 
hat  all  the  devil’s  can’t  mend  him. 

Car,  Then,  indeed,  I am  completely  ruined  ! 

Cic,  (g  unning  up  to  her,)  No,  don’t  you  say  so,  madam. 

[Caroline  smk,^  on  a chair, 

Ken,  Don’t  grieve,  my  sweet  Caroline,  don’t  grieve.  Och, 
he  devil,  my  ould  heart  is  as  full  as  a basket  of  eggs.  Pray 
low,  keep  a good  spirit ; for  you  have  lost  every  farthing 
ou  have  in  the  world. 

Cic,  Oh,  the  gracious ! is  that  it  ? pray,  if  you  please, 
ladam,  don’t  take  on  so,  then,  for  I have  money. 

Gar,  What ! have  you  money  ? 

Cic,  Aye,  that  I have ; and,  while  I have  ten  good 
lounds  that  poor  mother  left  me,  in  my  box,  and  a silver 
i^atch,  it  shall  never  be  said  that  I kept  it  from  one  in  dis- 
ress  who  has  been  so  kind  to  me. 

Ken,  Bless  your  pretty  little  soul ! what  a pity  it  is  now 
bat  a generous  heart  hasn’t  always  a heavy  purse  to  keep 
; company. 

Car,  My  poor  girl,  your  grateful  attachment  touches  me. 

must  retire  and  think  of— do  not  follow  me,  Cicely.  I 
lust  consult  on  measures  to — Oh,  Providence,  for  what 
lisery  am  I ordained  ? \Exit,  r. 

Ken,  Oh,  oh,  oh  ! 

Cic,  Dear,  I hope  I haven’t  given  madam  offence  bv 
^hat  I said. 

Ken,  No,  my  sweet  one ! you’re  a little  cherubim  in  a 
lob  cap.  What  will  I do  now  ? Paith,  I haven’t  a brother, 
or  a nephew,  nor  a cousin  german,  nor  a father,  nor  any 
ttlo  bit  of  a kinsman  left,  to  assist  in  this  botheration, 
'-ome,  little  one— there’s  my  watch,  and  my  buckles,  and 
ly— -by  my  soul,  I’d  pledge  myselj]  if  the  pawnbroker 
^ould  lend  me  anything  upon  me.  ’Exeunt,  l. 


u.  OF  ILL  I.1& 


52 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Scene  IL — The  street. 

Enter  Dick  Dowlas  and  Dr.  Pan  gloss,  l. 

Dick.  It  don’t  signify,  doctor;  I can’t  rest  t:ll  I hu\ 
Been  Cicely. 

Pang.  What’s  a tutor’s  power  over  a pupil  in  love 
annihilated.  True,  though  trite,  that  “ Omnia  vindt  amor. 
Ovid.  Hem  ! is  she  pretty  ? 

Dick.  What’s  that  to  you  ? 

Pang.  Nothing.  I’m  dead  to  the  fascinations  of  beautj 
since  that  unguarded  day  of  dalliance,  when,  being  full  ( 
Bacchus.  ‘‘  Bacchi  plenus.^^  Horace.  Hem ! my  pocki 
was  picked  of  a metal  watch,  at  the  sign  of  the  Spectre,  - 
Shoe-lane. 

Dick.  This  is  the  house  ; I’ve  told  you  my  story,  and  ^ 
you  value  my  three  hundred  pound  a year,  doctor,  be  read 
to  assist  me,  either  by  message  or  letter,  or — ^but  what 
damned  gig  you  look  like. 

Pang.  A gig  I umph ; that’s  an  Eton  phrase  : the  Wes 
minsters  call  it  vuiz. 

Dick.  And  you  are  the  greatest,  sure,  that  ever  was  di 
patched  on  love’s  embassies,  from  the  court  of  Cupid. 

Pang.  I’m  not  proud  of  the  post.  Take  my  counsel  ai 
drop  the  pursuit.  ‘‘  Eefrain,  desist,  desine?'^  Terenc 

Hem ! . . 

Dick.  Why,  look  ye,  doctor ; I’ve  done  an  injury  to  t^ 
worthy  souls,  and  I can’t  rest  till  I have  made  reparatic 
We  are  all  of  us  wrong  at  times,  doctor ; but,  a man  doubl 
his  ill  conduct,  when  he  is  too  proud  to  make  an  apoloj 

for  it.  1 

Pang.  Yes,  confessing  our  faults,  Mr.  Dowlas — 

Dick.  It’s  only  saying,  in  other  words,  doctor,  “ that  ^ 
are  wiser  to-day  than  we  were  yesterday.” 

Pang.  Swift.  Hem!  plenty  of  precedents,  however,  1 
your  conduct.  At  lover’s  perjuries,  they  say — ” 

Dick.  Well,  what  do  they  say  ? 

Pang.  “They  say  Jove  laughs.”  Shakspeare.  Hei 
Phaon  left  Sappho ; Theseus,  Ariadne  ; Demophocn,  Ph 
lis:  JEneas,  Dido, 

Dick.  Oh,  damn  Dido! 

Pang.  Damn  Dido  ! well,  damn  Dido ! with  all  my  hea 


HEIR  AT  LAW, 


53 

ihe  was  the  daughh^r  to  king  Belus,  of  Tyre ; but  as  very 
\ verago 

Dick.  Well,  we  need  not  go  far  for  examples.  Now, 
mock  at  that  door. 

^ Pang.  Double  ? 

Dick.  Zounds  ! no ; you’ll  spoil  all.  A sneaking,  single 
:ap,  like  a dun,  doctor. 

Pang.  Like  a dun  ? I know  the  knock  well,  Mr. 
)owlas. 

Dick.  And  when  ’tis  given,  get  out  of  the  way  for  a 
labile. 

) Pang.  My  constant  custom,  on  such  an  occasion. 
knocks  at  the  door.)  There’s  the  thorough  thump  of  a 
reditor.  I never  heard  it  but  I run  away  upon  instinct.” 
hakspeare.  Hem  ! [Exit  n.  u.  e. 

^ Enter  Cicely  at  the  door. — ^Dick  is  with  his  back 
I towards  her. 

Cic.  Dear!  Sure  somebody  knocked.  I see  nobody  but 
lat  gentleman,  neither.  It  could  not  be  he ; for,  if  foot- 
len  thump  so  loud,  for  certain  your  gentlefolks  must 
ways  beat  the  door  down.  Was  it  you  that  knocked, 
ray,  sir  ? (Dick  turns  rounds  and  Cicely  screams.)  Don’t 
[)me  near  me  1 

Dick.  My  dear  Cicely,  I 

Cic.  Oh,  Dick!  Dick!  [Cries  and  falls  in  his  arms. 
Dick.  I cannot  bear  this.  Your  tears  go  to  my  very 
•ul.  Cicely. 

Cic.  ’Tis  you  have  been  the  cause  of  them.  You  have 
most  cut  my  poor  heart  in  two. 

Dick.  My  own  suffers  for  it,  sufficiently,  believe  me. 

Cic.  How  could  you  be  so  barbarous  to  me  ? but,  in- 
5ed,  indeed  I forgive  you.  Your  cruelty  will  cost  me 
any  a tear;  but  this  is  the  last  time  I shall  ever  upbraid 
►u. 

Di:k.  Oh,  I deserve  all  your  reproaches. 

Cic.  If  I had  come  to  fortune,  and  you  had  been  poor, 
.ck,  I would  have  flown  to  you  and  cheered  you  in  your 
»verty ; I wculd  have  poured  my  gold  at  your  feet ; I 
)uld  have  shared  all  my  joys  with  you,  and  told  you,  that 
bes  could  never  change  my  heart. 


54 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Dick.  And  I come,  now,  to  share  all  mine  with  yoi 
Cicely. 

Cic.  Oh,  no,  Dick!  my  lot  is  very  humble, bnt  I scor 
the  gold  that  would  buy  my  honesty.  We  must  neve 
meet  more  : but  indeed,  indeed,  I do  truly  wish  you  to  h 
prosperous,  though  you  sought  my  ruin.  Bless  you,  Dick 
and  if  ever  poor  Cicely  comes  into  your  mind,  think,  thj 
she  prays  to  heaven  to  forgive  you,  for  trying  to  harm  he 
innocence,  whose  greatest  blessing  would  ha\0  been  t 
make  you  happy.  [ Going. 

Dick.  Stay— stay,  and  hear  me,  I entreat  you  1 I com 
to  sue  for  pardon  ; I come  in  repentance,  Cicely. 

Cic.  And  do  you  repent  ? 

Dick.  I do,  most  earnestly. 

Cic.  That  is  some  comfort  to  me ; for  your  own  hea: 
will  be  easier,  and  I shall  bear  my  hard  lot  better,  nov? 
for  I know  your  great  friends  will  never  let  you  stoop  1 
one  in  my  station.  Ah,  times  are  much  changed  with  u 
Dick  1 

Dick.  However  changed,  they  shall  not  now  alter  m 
purpose.  Cicely.  I have  been  dazzled,  and  I have  wounde 
you.  I have  covered  myself,  too,  with  shame  and  conf 
sion ; but  if  they  can  make  atonement,  my  fortunes,  n 
heart,  and  my  hand,  are  all  at  your  service. 

Cic.  Your  hand ; I— I shall  be  able  to  speak  more,  soo 
Oh,  Dick  1 

Dick.  My  dear,  dear  Cicely  1 I rose  strangely  to  ran 
and  I shall  now,  perhaps,  in  the  eyes  of  the  great  worl 
strangely  support  it  1 for  I am  afraid,  Cis,  that^  half  yo 
young  fellows  of  fashion  would  rather  seem  wicked  th. 
ridiculous  ^ but  I shall  never,  for  the  future,  think  th 
marrying  a worthy  woman  whom  chance  has  placed  benea 
us  in  life,  can  be  any  disgrace,  while  seducing  her  is  r^ 
oned,  among  profligate  fops,  a matter  of  triumph.  D 

your  tears,  Cicely  1 n-  -i  -u-i 

Cic.  These  are  not  like  the  tears  I shed  a while  af 
They  are  tears  of  joy,  Dick  1 {Bell rings.)  Hark  1 I J 
called. 

Biclt.  One  moment ! tell  me  you  forgive  me. 

Cic,  Porgive  you  ? oh,  Dick  ! you  have  made  me  hap] 
How  this  will  comfort  my  poor  Zekiel ! 

Bich,  I shall  be  ashamed  to  meet  him  again,  Cicely. 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


55 


Cic,  Oh ! I will  tell  him  all ; and— rings  again.)— 
rk  ! I am  called  again. 

Dick.  Adieu!  I \Yill  see  you  very,  very  soon.  Pare- 
ill. 

Cic.  Good  bye,  and — 

Dick,  {at  D.)  One  kiss,  and — good  bye  1 [exit  Cicely] 
it  one  kiss  of  lovely  virtue  is  worth  a million  times  more 
m all  the  blandishments  that  wealth  and  luxury  can  pur- 
ase.  Where  the  devil,  now,  is  the  doctor  ? I am  brim- 
of  joy,  and  1 have  nobody  to  communicate  my — 


Re-enicr  Dr.  Pangloss,  r.  u.  e. 

i ! you  are  return’d  Embrace  me,  doctor ! 

Fang.  Embrace  you  1 

Dick.  Open  wide  thy  arms,  in  friendly  congratulatior., 
d embrace,  you  prig  of  a tutor,  the  happiest  fellow  in 
iristendom  ! [they  embrace. 

Pang.  Bless  me  ! Avhy,  we’re  in  the  middle  of  the  street, 
icorum,  Mr.  Dowlas — 

Dick.  Damn  decorum  1 I’m  out  of  my  senses. 

Pang.  Heaven  forbid  I for,  it  would  be  as  clear  a nine 
ndred  pounds  a year  out  of  my  pocket,  as  ever  man  lost 
his  life,  {aside)  What’s  the  news  ? 

Dick.  The  news  ? why,  that  I’m  going  to  be  married. 
Pang.  Married ! mercy  on  me  ! then  be  is  mad,  indeed. 
yibus  anticyris  caput  insanabile.^'^  Horace.  Hem  1 
msider  the — 

Dick.  Pshaw  ! I have  no  time  to — come,  come  with  me 
, my  father’s.  I’ll  explain  all  to  him,  and — 

Pang.  Only  reflect  on — 

Dick.  Eeflect  1 look  ye,  you  grave  mustard-pot  of  a phi- 
lopher  1 you  shall  dance  a jig  down  the  street  with  me^ 
show  your  sympathy  in  my  happiness. 

Pang.  A doctor  of  laws  dance  a jig,  in  the  open  street, 
noon  day  1 

Dick.  Foot  it.  “ 0v3r  the  hills  and  far  away.”  {Sing 

D') 

Pang,  I ish  I were  far  away,  with  all  my  heart. 


56 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Dick,  Dance — dance  1 or,  damn  me,  I cat  ofif  your  three 
hundred  a year  in  a twinkling. 

Fang.  Will  you ! oli  then — a flourish  of  trumpets.’- 
Shakspeare.  Hem  ! Over  the  hills  and  far  away  !” 

{F4xeunt^  hand  in  hand,  dancing  and  singing,  r, 

END  OF  ACT  IV. 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I. — A Street. 

Enter  Kenrick,  r. 

Ken.  To  be  sure,  misfortune  isn’t  a neat  touchstone  t< 
try  friendship  upon ! faith,  noW',  all  my  loving  friends  de 
serve  a decent  kicking ; and  my  soul,  I believe  they  ex 
pccted  it  from  my  hands ; for  I no  sooner  said  the  won 
lend^  but  they  all  turned  their  backs  to  me.  Och,  my  poo: 
Miss  Caroline ! w^hat  will  I do,  now  your  aground,  to  kee] 
your  pretty  little  chin  above  w^ater ! if  w^e  could  have  kep 
the  brave  Mr.  Henry  Morland’s  chin  above  w^ater,  now 
but  he’s  gone : he’s  gone : and  tw^enty  humane  societie 
couldn’t  bring  him  back.  How  my  poor  ould  bones  ache 
and  sure  the  biggest  bone  about  me  is  in  my  heart,  for  tha 
aches  more  than  all  the  other  half  of  my  body.  I’ll  mak^ 
bold  just  to  rest  me  a bit  at  this  door.  Don’t  be  frighten 
ed,  good  gentlemen  within,  for  I a’nt  coming  to  bon'ow  c 
you.  {Sitting  doivn  on  the  steps  of  a.  door.)  Faith,  thi 
step  is  like  my  dear  friends’  hearts;  for,  by  St.  Patrick 
’tifl  as  coM  and  as  hard  as  a hailstone. 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


67 


Henry  More  and  avd  Stedfast,  l. 

Sted.  Nay,  nay,  be  patient,  Henry ! 

Henry.  My  dear  friend,  ’tis  impossible ! the  blow  is  too 
gieat.  So  good,  so  kind  a father,  lost ! and  his  death  so 
strangely  explain’d  to  me!  indeed,  indeed,  Stedfast,  my 
spirit  is  now  almost  broken. 

Ken.  I can’t  see  their  faces,  now ; but  sure  these  two 
must  be  a rich  man,  that  won’t  lend,  and  a borrower ; for 
ione  is  trotting  about  in  great  distress,  and  t’other  stands  as 
cool  as  a cucumber. 

Steel,  Come,  come,  Henry ; — the  encounter  has  been  a 
strange  one,  ’tis  true ; and  the  shock  sudden.  When  you 
entered  a father’s  house,  and  prepared  to  leap  into  a fa- 
ther’s arms,  to  meet  that  low  wretch,  who  has  caused  all 
our  mistakes,  was,  indeed— 

Henry.  Oh,  it  distracts  me  ! so  many  things  are  floating 
in  my  disordered  mind,  I — 

Steel.  But  ’tis  necessary  you  should  be  collected  now ; 
absolutely  necessary.  You  must  do  speedy  justice  to  your 
self: — to  the  memory  of  your  departed  father.  How  came 
you  not  to  discover  yourself  to  that  lump  of  ignorance, 
who  has  jumped  into  your  inheritance  ? 

Henry.  I was  staggered.  I heard  enough  from  him  to 
unravel  all ; and  ’tis  well,  perhaps,  w^e  withdrew  so  abrupt- 
ly. I might  have  done  something  rash,  at  the  moment. 
Oh,  Stedfast,  I shall  sink  under  it  1 

Sted.  For  shame,  Henry ! fie  on  this  weakness ! sink 
under  it ! decent  sorrow  for  a near  loss  is  amiable  : — and 
modest  nature  never  looks  more  lovely  than  when  the  filial 
tear  steals  gently  on  the  tomb  of  a parent : but  desperate 
grief  outrages  manhood  and  religion : for  in  the  trials  which 
we  are  all  born  to  undergo,  Henry,  the  man  and  the  Chris- 
tian forgets  his  duty  to  Providence,  and  to  himself,  when 
he  loses  his  resignation  and  his  fortitude. 

Henry.  You  are  an  able  and  kind  counsellor,  my  friend  : 
I will  endeavor  to  be  more  firm. 

Sted.  Come,  let  us  go  back  to  our  hotel.  You  may 
there  compose  yourself. 

Ke7i.  (gets  up)  So  having  taken  a rest.  I’ll  go  home 
with  my  bad  news,  to  console  poor  Miss  Caroline. 

\coming  forward. 


58 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


Henry.  I cannot  be  mistaken  in  that  face.  Kenrick  \ 

Ken.  Eh  ? why  sure  it  can’t  be  ! Sure,  my  old  eye’s  aro 
so  bad,  that  I see  what’s  invisible  ! 

Henry.  It  is  he  1 (Running  to  him.)  Oh,  Kenrick,  my 
good  old  man  ! tell  me  ! — where,  where  is  my  Caroline  ? 

Ken.  Och,  faith  ! ’tis  himself!  ’tis  himself!  ’tis  himself  I 
safe,  sound,  and  dry,  without  a wet  rag  about  him ! 

Henry.  But  inform  me,  my  honest  Kenrick,  of — 

Ken:  Hubbaboo ! hubbaboo  ! hubbaboo ! och,  I’ll  ga 
wild — I’ll  go  mad  I don’t  spake  to  me  yet,  my  dear,  sweet 
Mr.  Henry  ! — och,  good  luck  to  the  day  when  your  honor 
walked  ashore,  after  you  were  drowned  ! 

Hem'y.  But  tell  me,  Kenrick,  of— 

Ken.  Yes,  I’ll  tell  you — I’ll  tell  you  of — och,  upon  my 
soul  you  must  wait  a bit.  I believe  I’ve  been  drowned 
myself,  for  the  salt  water  runs  out  of  my  eyes  by  pails-full. 

Steel.  Poor  fellow  ! an  old  servant  of  Mr.  Dormer’s  I per- 
ceive. 

Henry.  Well  now,  speak,  speak,  Kenrick.  Only  tell  me, 
is  Caroline  safe  ? 

Ken.  Indeed  now,  and  she  is. 

Henry.  Thank  Heaven — and  in  London  ? 

Ken.  Yes,  in  this  wide  dirty  town  ; and  big  as  it  is,  there 
isn’t  a thirteen  to  be  had,  for  love  nor  money,  to  help  her 
out  of  her  distress. 

Henry.  Her  distress  ? but  I feared  it.  Let  me  fly  to 
ner,  and — you  are  surely  with  her  still,  Kenrick  ? 

Ken.  With  her  ! and  is  it  yourself,  Mr.  Henry,  that  can 
ask  Kenrick  that  question ! — could  I leave  my  sweet  young 
mistress  ? or,  would  I leave  any  friends  in  their  need,  that 
supported  me  in  their  prosperity  ? Och,  the  devil  fly  away 
with  him  that  would,  I say  ! 

Sted.  Honest  fellow ! 

Henry.  Pardon  me,  my  good  Kenrick ; I know  not  what 
I say.  Conduct  me  to  her ; and  you  shall  explain  all  by 
the  way. 

Ken.  Conduct  you  ! faith,  old  as  I am.  I’ll  go  hopping 
over  all  the  kennels  home  with  you,  as  nimble  as  a jackdaw. 

Henry.  Come  then,  Stedfast. 

Sted.  Come,  Henry;  I’ll  see  you  to  the  door  of  Miss 
Dormer,  and  then  I’ll  leave  you ; and  on  this  occasion,  my 
dear  friend,  let  mo  heartily  congratulate  you.  Sucli  an 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


69 


Bvent  as  this  comes  most  opportunelj  ^ and  it  may  prove 
bo  you,  Henry,  that  in  this  chequered  life  of  joy  and  sorrow, 
Providence  has  ever  some  balm  in  store,  to  pour  into  the 
svounds  which  it  inflicts  ; and  that  the  worst  of  griefs  may 
be  assauged  by  the  pitying  Power  who  chastens  us. 

[Exezmt, 


^ Scene  II. — An  Apartment  in  Lord  Duberly’s  House. 

Enter  Lord  and  Lady  Duberly,  r. 

Lord  D.  But  listen,  my  lady,  to  reason. 

Lady  D.  Then  I musn’t  listen  to  yoit^  my  lord. 

Lo7rl  D.  Urn  ! why,  I’ve  been  almost  scared  out  of  my 
leven  senses.  The  old  madman,  who  was  here  last  night, 
‘ushed  in,  with  another  young  one  with  him,  this  morning. 
; can’t  make  head  nor  tail  of  what  he  wants,  for  my  part. 
3ut  as  to  Dick,  my  lady,  he’ll  certainly  break  his  heart,  if 
le  doesn’t  marry  this  here  wench. 

Lady  D.  I wonder,  my  lord,  you  can  think  of  such  a 
hing ! — a peer’s  son  marry  a maid-servant  ? 

Lord  D,  Od  rabbit  it,  my  lady,  don’t  be  so  obstropulous. 
fou  know,  when  his  father  married  you,  you  was  but  a 
lear  starcher. 

Lady  D.  That’s  quite  another  sort  of  an  affair ; and  you 
night  have  more  manners  than  to  mention  it  now.  But  as 
o learning  you  elegance — ah,  we  may  lead  the  horse  to  the 
vater,  my  loi  d,  but  there’s  no  making  him  drink.  ^ 

Lord  D.  Nay,  I’m  sure,  my  lady,  I did’nt  mean  no  dis- 
jaragement  to  you ; for  you  w^as  counted  on  all  hands,  the 
»est  getter  up  of  small  linen  in  our  town.  Here’s  the  doc- 
or,  let’s  ax  his  advice  in  this  here  business. 

Enter  Dr.  Pangloss,  l. 

Vay  now,  doctor — ^you  must  know^  we’re  in  a bit  of  a 
uandary,  doctor. 

Fang.  Your  lordship  had  better  be  in  an  nneertainty. 

Lord  D.  Why,  lord  love  you,  so  I am,  mum.  Pray 
lid’nt  you  never  hear  of  no  great  man  as  was  married  to  a 
armer’s  daughter  ? 

Fang.  Walter;  a marquis  pf  Lombardy. 


60 


HEIR  AT 


/ Lord  D.  There,  my  lady— the  marquis  of  Lom^rdy  1 
that’s  the  place  where  all  the  poplars  come  ft-om._  He’s  a 
tip-top,  I war’n’t  him.  Mayhap  you  may  have  lit  on  him, 
in  your  visits,  my  lady  ? I 

Lad7j  D.  Frequently.  , , • , s 

Fang.  “ ’Tis  false.”— Kowe.  Hem!  {aside)  , 

Lady  D.  But  you  have  heard  nothing  yet  of  tue  high 

imfi^^Hio'li  tone ! rot  it,  I have  nothing  else  but  the 
high  tone  when  you’re  in  the  house,  my  lady.  And  who 

did  he  marry,  doctor?  „ j i. 

Fang.  Grizzle : a perfect  pattern  of  patience ;— daughter 
v,;o  .Taf-nlina : and— “ This  markis  hath  here 


v/ 


to  his  tenant,  jkcolina;  and— “ This  markis  hath 
spoused  w'ith  a ring.”  Chaucer.  Hem!  _ 

Lord  D\  There,  my  lady ! what  do  you  think  of  that . 
damn  it,  if  the  marquis  smoused  Grizzle,  Dick  may  marry 

pupil '•  zounds,  my  salary  I “ Tremor  occ» 
pat  artusT  Virgil.  Hem  ! my  income  totters,  {aside.) 

Lord  D And  in  that  there  case,  doctor,  your  three  hun 
dred  a year  must  go  to  the  mending  of  my  cakelology. 

Fan^  Yes,  but  I shall  lose— no,  nothing ; a la.psus  lin 
guce.  One  annuity  gone  with  my  pupil  1 then  I ve  oulj 

clear,  for  life,  “ six  hundred ” 

Ijidy  D.  Doctor—  , -kt  ^ 9 

Fan'^  “ Pounds  B year.”  Swift.  Hem-  Madam. 
Lady  D.  {apart  to  Pang.)  You  know,  doctor,  my  thre< 

hundred  stops  the  moment  my  son  mames. 

Fan<^.  AVhat,  stop  your  three  “ Thrice  the  braiidei 
cat  has^mewed.”  Shakspeare.  Hem!  here  he  comes. 


Enter  Dick  Dowlas,  r. 

Dick.  "VVell,  father,  has  my  mother  made  up  her  mind 
/ Lord  D.  AVhy,  I can’t  tell,  Dick.  My  1^^^ 

twixt  and  betweenish,  as  a body  may  say.  But,  it  all  d. 
nends  upon  her  vardic.  [Dick  takes  his  mother  apai  t. 

^ Pansr,  Does  it  ’•  Oh,  Jupiter,  if  ever  contradiction  crej; 
into  the  bosom  of  beauteous  ^Nomw—'  Mu^cr  frrmascL 
Horace.  Hem  !-stuff  a double  dose  into  that  terrible  ol 
woman,  and  save  the  fortunes  ot  Peter  Pangloss 

Lady  D.  Well,  she  is  only  a farmer’s  daughter,  tbt| 
iay.  And  what’s  a farmer,  my  dear  ? i 


i 

I 


HEIR.  AT  LAW. 


61 


Di-k.  Why,  an  English  farmer,  mother,  is  one  who  sup> 
ports  his  family  and  serves  his  country,  by  his  own  indus- 
try. In  this  land  of  commerce,  mother,  such  a character 
will  be  always  respectable. 

Lord.  D.  That’s  right,  Dick.  Father’s  own  son,  to  a 
hair.  When  I kept  my  shop  at  Gosport,  I 

Lady  D.  Hush,  ray  lord.  Well,  you— you  were  always 
my  darling,  you  know,  Dick  j and  I can’t  find  in  my  heai  t 
1 to  give  you  a denial. 

I Fang,  Can’t  you  ! — I wish  you  could  find  it  in  your 
tongue.  Six  hundred  a year  blown  away  by  the  breath  of 
that  Sybil,  {aside,) 

Dkk,  That’s  my  good  mother!  you’ve  made  me  so 
happy  ! — I — zounds,  I shall  run  mad  1 

'^Fang.  Zounds,  and  so  shall  I. 

Bick,  A thousand  thanks,  my  dear  mother!  and  my 
dear  father,  too ! — I’ll  get  as  drunk  to-night  as — wish  me 
jov  doctor;  wish  me  joy,  wish  me  joy  a hundred  times. 

Fang,  A hundred  times  ! — I feel,  Mr.  Dowlas,  on  this 
occasion,  six  hundred  times  more  than  I know  how  to 
express. 

Bkk,  And,  if  you  would  but  indulge  me  now,  m letting 
me  conduct  you  to  Cicely-— 

Lord  D,  Od  rod  it,  my  lady,  let’s  humor  Dick  for  once. 
The  young  ones  loves  to  be  cooing  and  building,  you  know. 

Lady  D,  Why,  the  coach,  I believe,  is  at  the  door,  my 

lord.  , , i 

^ LordB,  Is  it  ? ’sbobs!  then,  my  lady,  let  s bundle— 
Dick!— -come,  doctor.  Now,  you  musn’t  ride  me  back- 
wards, my  lady;  for  you  know,  I han’t  been  used^to  a 
ooach,  and  I shall  certainly  be  qualmish  if  you  do.  Come, 

my  lady.  _ 

[^Exeunt  Lord  a7id  Lady  Duberly,  l.  / 

Bick,  Come,  doctor,  we  lose  time. 

Fang,  Time  ? lose ! I’ve  lost  as  pretty  a pair  of  snug 
annuities  as ^let  me  see— -take  six  from  nine 

Bick,  Why,  doctor? 

Fang,  And  three  remains.”  Cocker.  Hem! 

Bkk,  Come,  come— -’tis  late. 

Fang,  Only  three. 

Dick,  Only  three ! why,  ’tis  only  twelve,  man ; b at  como, 


62 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


if  you  don’t  attend  to  my  father,  better,  I can  tell  you,  he’ll 
kick  you  and  your  three  hundred  a year  to  the  devil 
Pang.  Will  he  ? “ 0,  for  a horse  with  wings !”  Shaa- 
epeare.  Hem  ! I fly,  Mr.  Dowlas.  [Exeunt^  l. 


Scene  III. — Caroline's  lodgings. 

Caroline  and  Cicely,  r. 

Cic.  Indeed,  I truly  hope  you  are  better,  madam. 

Car.  I have  little  reason  to  be  so,  Cicely. 

Cic.  Oh,  but  I hope  you  have  ! and,  if  the  worst  comes 

to  the  worst but,  I am  almost  ashamed  to  tell  you, 

madam. 

Car.  Innocence,  like  yours,  my  good  girl,  can  know  no- 
thing it  should  fear  to  reveal. 

Cic.  Why,  I needn’t  be  muoh  afraid,  neither : for  ’tis 
what  a power  of  folks,  both  rich  and  poor,  do  all  come  to 
at  last. 

Car.  What  is  that,  Cicely  ? 

Cic.  Wedlock,  madam. 

Car.  Indeed!  this  is  unexpected,  after  what  you  told  me 
this  morning. 

Cic.  Ay,  but  you  know,  madam,  as  to  wedlock,  and  all 
that,  many  things  fall  out  between  the  cup  and  the  lip,  as 
they  say. 

Car.  [sighing)  ’Tis  too  true,  indeed.  Cicely. 

Cic.  And  so  my  Dick  came  to  our  door,  madam,  ’tis  but 
a little  while  agone ; and  his  dear  eyes  were  as  full  of  tears ! 

and.  you  know,  that  was  a pity,  madam  : for  his  eyes  are 
so  fine,  and  so  blue,  ’tis  a shame  any  thing  should  spoil  ’em. 

Car.  Well,  Cicely? 

Cic.  And  so,  we  soon  brought  matters  to  bear,  madam. 

Car.  How,  Cicely  ? 

Cic.  Why,  he  look’d  so  sorry,  that  it  made  my  heart 
bleed  to  see  him  ; and  when  I love  him  so  dearly,  it  would 
be  cruel  not  to  marry  him,  when  he  ask’d  me.  Don’t  you 
think  so,  madam  ? 

Car.  May  you  be  very,  very  happy.  Cicely  ! ’tis  an  ease 
to  my  mind,  in  the  midst  of  my  misfortunes,  to  know  that 
you  will  be  provided  for.  I was  on  the  point  of  telling  you 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


6S 

that  my  reduced  circumstances  would  not  jenidtme  to 
keep  you  with  me  any  longer. 

Cic,  Oh,  dear : — and  was  you  going  to  be  so  unkind  to 
me,  madam  ? 

Car.  Unkind  to  you,  my  good  girl ! Oh,  no ; it  would 
have  touched  me  sensibly,  to  have  sent  forth  simplicity  like 
yours  unprotected.  But,  hard  necessity!  I rejoice, my 
good  Cicely,  I rejoice  most  sincerely  in  your  good  fortunes. 

Cic.  Ah,  madam,  I should  rejoice  more  at  my  good  for- 
tune, if  you  would  but  let  me  do  what  I have  been  think- 
ing on. 

Car.  "What  is  that,  Cicely  ? 

Cic.  I hope  you  won’t  be  angry  at  what  I am  going  to 
say,  madam. 

Car.  Oh,  impossible  ; — speak  freely. 

Cic.  Why,  you  know,  madam,  Dick’s  a lord’s  son  ; and 
when  I’m  his  wife,  I may  do  just  what  I please ; for  rich 
folks’  wives,  I have  heard  say,  do  just  what  they  please  in 
London.  Now,  if  you  would  be  so  good,  when  I’m  mar 
ried,  as  to  let  me  serve  you  for  nothing. 

Car.  No  more — no  more.  Cicely- — I 

Cic.  And  when  my  husband  gives  me  any  money,  if  you 
would  be  so  kind  as  to  borrow  it  of  me,  I should  1)6  ver^ 
much  obliged  to  you,  indeed,  madam. 

Car.  Oil  ! — you  have  overpowered  me.  ( Falls  07 
Cicely'' s neck.)  Oh  heaven,  how  pure  are  all  thy  creatures 
endowed  with  reason,  till  worldly  habits  corrupt  them ! 

Zekiel,  without,  r. 

Zek.  Tol,  lol  de  rol,  lol  1 

Car.  What  is  that  ? 

Cic.  ’Twas  brother  Zekiel’s  voice.  Sure  he  can’t  think 
to  make  such  a noise  here. 

Enter  Zekiel,  capering  and  singing^  r. 

Zek.  Tol,  lol  de  rol,  lol  I tol,  lol  de  rol,  lol  1 

Cic.  Why.  Zekiel — why,  you  must  be  crazy  sure. 

I Zek.  Zooks,  and  so  I be,  sister.  Tol,  lol  de  rol,  lol. 

I Cic.  Think  where  you  are,  brother.  There’s  madam. 

Zek.  Babbit  it,  madam,  I do  humbly  crave  pardon : but  1 
be  in  such  a flustration— I ha’  got— lol  lol  de  rol,  lol;— I ha 
got  twenty  thousand  pounds  1 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


64 


Cic,  My  gracious ! twenty  thousand  pounds  I 

Zek.  Tol,  lol  de  rol,  lol ! 

Cic,  But  stand  still  now,  brother  Zekiel.  Where  did 
you  get  such  a sight  of  money  ? 

Zek,  I’  the  lottery,  lass—i’  the  lottery.  Let  me  take  a 
bit  of  breath.  I do  crave  pardon,  madam father’s  ticket 
—let  me  take  a bit  of— have  come  a prize  of-a  bit  of  breath 
—of — —dear,  dear ; heaven  send  this  luck  do  not  set  my 
simple  brain  a madding  ! 

Car,  Compose  yourself,  honest  friend. 

Zek,  I do  humbly  thank  you,  madam.  I ha’  run  all  the 
way  from  lottery  office,  and 

Cic,  Well,  and  what  will  you  do  with  all  this  money, 
Zekiel  % 

Zek,  What  will  I do  wi’  it,  sister  Cicely  ? Why,  what 
should  a man  do  wi’  his  riches  1 I will  first  provide  for 
such  as  I do  love ; and  then  lend  a helping  hand  to  them  as 
be  poor  about  me. 

Cic,  Dear  brother,  that’s  just  the  thing.  Come  here, 
Zekiel.  Poor  madam  has  fallen  into  great  trouble. 

Zek,  Has  she  ? how  ? 

Cic,  Why,  all  her  friends  are  dead,  it  seemS"* 

Zek,  Poor  soul! 

Cic.  And  her  banker  stole  all  the  money  she  had,  this 
very  morning;  and— 

Zek.  Don’t  ye  say  any  more,  sister  Cicely.  Hum— ma- 
dam, I— I be  main  glad  to  hear  you  be  tumbled  into  mis 
fortunes,  madam. 

Car.  Glad,  friend ! ! 

Zek.  Main  glad,  indeed ; because  you  ha’  been  so  kind  | 
to  sister ; and  I be  able  now  to  return  you  the  favor. 

Car,  Oh,  no  more  of  that,  Zekiel : you  distress  me. 

Zek.  With  submission,  madam,  I do  want  to  take  away 
your  distress.  Here,  madam,  {^pulling  out  notes)  here  be  a 

hundred,  and  there  be  a five  hundred,  and  here  be  a 

rabbit  it,  my  hand  do  shake  too  much  to  stand  a counting. 

1 will  spread  ’em  all  upon  the  table,  here.  Take  what  you 
do  want,  and  welcome ; and  thank  you  too,  madam. 

{spreading  all  on  the  tMe  in  a great  flurry. 

Car.  I cannot— I cannot  think,  friend,  of 

Zek.  and  Cic  Pray  ye  do,  now,  madam— pray  ye  da 

fdounng  ana  curtseying^ 


HEIS  AX  tAVf. 


65 


Enter  Lord  and  Lady  Duberly,  l. 


Car,  Bless  me  1 who’s  this  ? 

^ Lord  D,  Beg  pardon,  ma^am ; but  the  landlady  bid  ua 
bundle  up. 

Car,  Your  commands  with  me,  sir  ? 

y/^  Lord  D,  Why,  the  whole  preamble  of  this  here  affair  is, 

that  my  lady  and  I speak  to  the  gentlewoman,  my 

lady. 

Lady  D.  Ah,  you  have  a head,  and  so  has  a pin.  We 
made  bold  to  pay  our  respects,  madam,  having  a little  busi- 
ness, concarning  a female  of  your  family. 

^ Lord  D,  Yes,  and 

Car,  To  whom  have  I the  honor  of  speaking,  sir  ? 

^ IjyrdD,  Whj,  you  have  the  honor  of  speaking  to  lord 
Duberly,  madam. 

7uek,  What!  {gaUiers  up  his  notes  hastily  and  comes 
forward^ 

. Car,  To  lord  Duberly  ? 

r Lord  D.  But  Dick’s  coming  up,  with  Dr.  Pangloss  hard 
at  his  heels,  and  they’ll  tell  you  the  long  and  short  on’t. 

Zek.  What,  Dick  Dowlas!  then  you  be  the  old  chandler 
they  ha’  made  a lord  on  ? 

Lady  D.  Old  chandler,  indeed ! 

Zek,  Look  ye,  now,  my  lord  soap  and  candles— 

Lady  D,  Soap  and  candles ! 

Zek.  Your  son  had  better  keep  clear  o’  me,  I can  tell 
him  that. 


Enter  Dick  Dowlas  and  Pangloss,  l. 

Lick,  Cicely,  let  me—  [running  towards  Cicely, 

Zek,  {interposing)  Stand  off,  Mr.  Dowlas— stand  off. 

To  think  to  come  here  to -odd  rabbit  it,  my  fingers  do 

itch  to  be  at  you.  Keep  you  behind  me,  sister  Cicely. 

Dick.  My  dear  Zekiel,  I 

Zek,  Don’t  ye  dear  me.  I put  little  trust  in  fair  words 
with  foul  actions. 

Cic,  Dear,  now,  you  are  so  hasty,  Zekiel. 

Zek,  Hold  your  peace,  Cicely.  The  best  he  that  wears 
a head  had  better  be  hang’d,  than  venture  to  harm  you. 

Dick,  Cicely,  I find,  has  not  explain’d.  I am  here^  Ze- 
kiel, to  make  reparation. 


66 


HEIU  AT  LAW. 


Zek,  You  have  stung  me  to  the  quick.  You  do  know 
you  have. 

Dick,  I share  with  you  in  all  the  pain,  Zekiel,  which  I 
have  so  wantonly  inflicted.  My  heart  smote  me,  even  bo* 
fore  you  left  me  ; and  very  little  reflection  convinced  me, 
that,  in  the  vanity  of  sudden  fortune,  I have  offered  you, 
and  the  woman  of  my  heart,  a bitter  injury.  I am  thought- 
less, Zekiel,  but  not  deliberately  base  ; and,  if  you  can  once 
more  take  me  to  your  bosom,  a guilty,  but  repented 
friend — 

Zek,  Oh,  Dick,  Dick  ! {runs  and  embraces  him)  my  dear, 
my  old  companion ! Ah,  Dick ! that  be  a stony  bosom 
that  can  shut  out  an  old  friend,  who  be  truly  grieved  for 
his  faults,  and  do  sue  for  mercy.  It  be  more  than  I can  do. 

Cic,  Dear,  I am  so  happy  ! 

Zek.  You  have  made  my  heart,  many  and  many  a pound 
the  lighter,  Dick. 

Dick.  And  my  own  too,  Zekiel.  And,  to  prove  my  sin- 
cerity, my  father  and  mother  here,  are  come  with  an  offer 
of  my  hand  to  Cicely.  Father— 

Lord  D.  "Why,  my  lady — ^here  is  a little  upon  the  grumpy 
order,  for  his  calling  us  chandlers.  But,  for  my  part,  I 
don’t  value  that  not  of  a button.  A man  needn’t  take  no 
affront,  to  be  told  he  was  born  low,  when  he  has  got  better 
in  the  world  without  no  dishonesty.  There,  children,  be 
happy  together. 

Zek.  Why,  now,  that’s  hearty.  And,  as  luck  be  apt  to 
turn  wi’  us  all,  why,  I ha’  now  gotten  twenty-thousand 
pounds—  * 

Lord  and  Lady  D.  How  ? 

Zek.  And  I warn’t  sister  Cicely  shall  ha’  summut  hand 
some  toss’d  in  at  the  wedding. 

Cic.  Aye,  all  in  the  lottery.  I’ll  tell  you.  [they  go  apart.) 

Pang.  Twenty  thousand  pounds ! {goes  forward  to  Ze- 
kiel.) Sir,  as  you  will  now  need  a tutor,  to  usher  you  into 
life,  three  hundred  per  annum  are  the  trifling  terras  of 
your  obedient  servant,  Peter  Pangloss,  L.  L.  D.  and  A 
double  S. 


Enter  Kenrick,  r. 

Ken.  Stand  out  of  the  way  1 he’s  coming,  my  dear  Miss 
Caroline  1 he’s  coming. 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


67 


Car.  Who,  Kenrick  ? 

Ken.  ’Tis  himself!  ’tis  himself  I he’s  alive,  and  leaping 
up  stairs,  like  a young  salmon  out  of  the  water. 

Car.  Who  do  you  mean  ? 

Ken.  My  dear,  young,  lost  master.  ’Tis  Mr.  Henry 
himself,  madam. 

Car.  My  Henry  ! oh,  support  me. 

Enter  Henry  Morland. 

Henry.  My  Caroline  I Oh,  let  me  clasp  you  to  my  heart, 
and  shelter  you  there  for  ever. 

^ [Caroline  faints  in  his  arms. 

Loi'd  D.  Why,  zounds  ! that’s  the  young  sucking  mad- 
man, as  scared  me  out  of  my  senses,  with  the  old  one,  this 
morning. 

Car.  {recovering.)  This  is  too  much;  oh,  Henry  ! do  we 
once  more  meet : and  after  such — ^by  what  miracle  have 
you  escaped  ? 

Ken.  Be  satisfied,  ma’am,  for  he’s  too  much  bothered 
now  to  talk.  But  you  see  he’s  here,  and  that’s  enough. 
The  true,  long  lost,  Mr.  Henry  Morland. 

Lord  B.  Eh  I what?  Mr.  Henry  Morland  ? why,  zounds, 
the  late  Lord  Duberly’s  lost  hair. 

Henry.  Son  and  heir  to  that  revered  and  respectable 
man,  be  assured,  sir.  You  have  done  me  the  favor  to  be 
my  locum  tenens^  in  my  absence,  and  I am.  now  returned 
to  relieve  you  from  further  trouble. 

r Lord  B.  Why,  what  the  devil ! have  I only  been  a kind 
Ya  peer’s  warming  pan,  after  all;  just  popped  in,  to  keep 
his  place  from  getting  cold,  till  he  jumped  into  it  ? 

Henry.  Nothing  more,  believe  me.  I have  witnesses 
RuflScient,  should  it  be  necessary,  to  identify  my  person  in 
a minute. 

j Zjord  B.  Od  rabbit  it,  then,  old  Daniel  Dowlas  is  no 
longer  a lord — 

Lady  B.  Nor  Deborah  Dowlas  a lady — 

Bick.  Nor  Dick  Dowlas  an  honorable — 

Fang.  NorPeterPanglossa  tutor.  Now,  thank  heaven ! 
Ijord  D.  Thank  heaven  1 for  wLat  ? 

: Fang.  “ That  I’m  not  worth  a ducat.”  Otway.  Hem  ) 
Zek.  Then  it  do  seem  at  last,  Dick,  that  I be  the  riel 


68 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


man,  and  you  be  the  poor.  Od  rabbit  it^  I be  glad  on’t; 
for  I can  now  please  myself  wi’  serving  my  friends. 

Henry.  Who  is  this,  Caroline  ? 

Car.  An  honest  creature,  Henry,  brother  to  this  simple 
girl.  Their  affection  to  me  in  my  distress,  has  been  most 
piercing. 

Henry.  Then  it  shall  not  go  unrewarded,  my  Caroline 

Zek.  Wi’  humble  submission,  sir,  kindness  to  a fellow 
creature  in  distress,  do  reward  itself.  Thanks  to  the  lot- 
tery, we  be  rich  enow.  But,  as  Dick  Dowlas  be  to  marry 
sister  Cicely,  if  you  would  just  lend  a helping  hand  for  his 
father  and  mother  here — 

Henry.  Gh ! rest  contented,  honest  friend ; I shall  not 
dispossess  them  without  making  a proper  provision. 

Fang.  My  lord : hem ! if  a boy  should  bless  your  nup- 
tials, which  I conjecture,  are  about  to  take  place,  he  will, 
doubtless,  need  a tutor.  Three  hundred  jger  annum.,  are 
the  terms  of  your  lordship’s  obsequious  servant,  Peter 
Pangloss,  L.  L.  D.,  and  A double  S. 

Henry.  You  are  not  one  of  those,  it  seems,  sir,  who  lose 
an  appointment  for  want  of  an  early  application. 

Fayig.  The  human  mind,  iny  lord,  naturally  looks  for- 
Avard,  animus  preevidit  futura.'''^  Cicera.  Hem  ! 

Henry.  If  I should  need  such  a person,  sir,  depend  upon 
it,  I should  be  very  particular  in  iny  choice;  for  I suspect 
there  are  some  among  those  to  wIkuu  youth  is  intrusted, 
who  bring  the  character  (»f  tuti»r  into  ilisrepute  ; and  draw 
ridicule  upon  a respectable  sit  nation,  in  which  many  men 
of  learning  and  proi)itv  are  ])laci*«l. 

Fang.  This  man  will  never  do  for  me.  Again  must  I 
retire  to  Milk  Alley,  and  spin  my  brains  for  a subsistence. 
“ Pangloss’s  occupation  gone.”  Shakspeare.  Hem! 

Henry.  In  calmer  moments,  my  Caroline,  I will  explain 
the  circumstance  of . my  pj'eservation ; and,  when  I have 
paid  the  mournful  ti*ibnte  due  to  a much  lamented  father, 
let  me  call  you  mine,  and  place  you  above  the  reach  of 
future  sorrow. 

Car.  Little  sorrow  can  reach  me  when  you  are  safe, 
Henry. 

Zek.  And  we’ll  get  into  the  country ; take  a bit  farm, 
and  all  be  as  merry  as  grigs,  Dick. 

Dick,  Agreed,  Zekiel.  Come,  Cicely  1 I have  seen 


HEIR  AT  LAW. 


69 


enough  already  of  splendor  to  seek  for  happiness  in  quieter 
scenes  : and  I have  learnt,  Zekiel,  that,  in  spite  of  all  the 
allurements  which  riches  or  titles  may  boast,  the  most  solid 
and  valuable  possession  is  a true  friend. 

THE  END. 


DISPOSITION  OF  CHARA^CTEBS. 


EPILOGUE. 


Spoken  by  the  Dramatis  Personae, 


Dick,  Custom  exacts,  (and  who  denies  her  sway  ?) 

An  epilogue  to  every  five  act  play. 

Pang.  Y ou  speak  it,  then ; and  do  not  mouth  it ; come  I 
But  “ be  nottootameneither.” — Shakspeare.  Huia 
v/  Da7i,  Odd  rabbit  it,  best  let  these  logs  alone. 

Pang.  Epi — 

Dan.  Well,  epilogs, 

Mrs.  D.  There  all  the  tone, 

Zek,  What  be  the  epilogue  you  be  talking  on  ? 

Pang.  E^m  et  A.oyog—vide  Lexicon. 

Ken.  I’ll  tell  you,  honey ; Epilogs,  they  say. 

Are  what  are  alwa3"S  spoke  before  the  play  5 
By  some  good  looking  gentleman, 'well  diest. 

Cic.  Oh,  then  I’m  sure  my  Dick  will  speak  it  best 
Henry.  To  win  the  town,  the  epilogue  intends,  _ 

And,  the  play  over,  please  our  best  of  tnendB. 

Zek.  Please  our  best  friends?  Aye,  that  be  right.  I spy 
A power  here,  we  fain  would  please  . who  il  try  ( 
Henry.  I — 

Car.  I — 

Dan.  1 — 

Mrs.  D.  I— 


Zek. 

Cic. 

Dick. 

Ken. 

Pang. 


I— 


I~ 


I— 


I— 


And  1. 


EPILOGUE 


ri 


Cic, 


]Ja?i 


Ken,  Ocly,  faith,  wo  re  of  one  mind,  had  w e been  twenty 
^Tis  carried — 

Pang,  Nemine  dissmtiente, 

Dick,  Vhus  to  begin,  then : 

If  here,  some  thoughtless  youngster  may  be  found, 
In  fashion’s  giddy  vortex  whirling  round. 

May  he,  to-night,  from  Dick’s  example,  see 
That  honor’s  real  pomp  is  honesty  : 

May  reformation’s  pledge  his  cheek  o’ercast ; 

The  self-accusing  blush,  for  errors  past. 

If  there’s  a lass  in  love, — yes,  I’ve  spied  her ; 
Sitting,  quite  snug,  with  that  young  man  beside  her 

[pointing. 

Let  her,  like  Cicely,  to  this  maxim  cling ; 

Love  slights  all  gold,  except  a wedding  ring. 

Pray,  is  there  ne’er  a chandler  here  ? because, 

Old  Daniel  Dowlas  axes  his  applause. 

Mrs,  D,  Hush — ^hold  your  tongue  : 

Dan.  Why,  zounds— 

Mrs,  D,  ’Twill  never  stop, 

Dan,  I’m  only  begging  custom  for  the  shop. 

Henry.  While  filial  duty  animates  our  youth  ; 

While  virtuous  passion  warms  the  breast  of  trutl! 
With  qualities  like  these,  to  Britons  dear 
Henry  may  surelj*  hope  for  favor  here. 

And  may  not  Caroline  applause  secure  ? 

Who,  to  all  these,  adds  feeling  for  the  poor. 

Och,  bother;  you’ve  so  many  virtues  here, 

There  won’t  be  any  left  for  me,  I fear. 

Burn  him,  who  leaves  (I  can’t  say  more  nor  less) 

A patron,  friend,  or  female,  in  distress. 

Zek,  Plesh ! gi’s  your  fist— that’s  hearty  now  and  fair ; 

You  be  of  Zekiel’s  kidney  to  a hair. 

Pang.  Hem— on  my  virtues  I shall  lay  no  stress : 

I’m  L.  L.  D.  and  A double  S. 

If  any  body  wants  a tutor  here. 

My  terms  are  just  three  hundred  pounds  a year 
On  their  own  merits  modest  men  are  dumb  ; * 

Plaudite  et  Terence.  Hum. 


Car. 


Ken. 


■i 


1 


H -A.  C3r -A.  3\r  ^ S 


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for  a ]mbw  descriptive  catalogue 


[Catalogue  continued  from  second  page  of  cover.) 


VO  I..  XLII. 

329  Ticket  of  Leave  Man 

330  Fool’s  Revenge 

331  O'Neil  the  Great 

332  Handy  Andy 

333  Pirate  of  the  Isles 

334  Fanchon 

335  Little  Barefoot 

336  Wild  Irish  Girl 


OL.  XLI. 
Pirate’s  Legacy 
Charcoal  Burner 
githa 

r Valiente 
stRose 
s’s  Daughter 
ilia’s  Husband 
Gold 


Ct». 

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TOMIMES ; or,  Harlequin  in  the  Shades. 

» get  them  up  and  how  to  act  them.  With 
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By  Tony  Denier.  Price .25 

OR  TABLEAUX ; or,  Animated  Pic- 
or  the  use  of  Families,  Schools,  and  Public  « 
tions.  By  Tony  Denier.  Price. 25 

•EUR’S  GUIDE  TO  HOME  THE- 
ICAliS.  How  to  get  them  up,  and  how  to 
hem;  to  which  is  added,  “ How  to  get  up 
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i Scenes,  Plays,  and  everything  useful  for 
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pearance,  4&0.,  &c.  Price 15 

\RT  OF  ACTING ; or.  Guide  to  the 
In  which  the  Dramatic  Passions  are  de- 
nalyzed,  and  made  easy  of  acquirement ; 

3 requisites  necessary  for  performers  of  both 
heroes,  gentlemen,  lovers,  tradesmen, 
heroines,  fine  ladies,  hoydens,  characters 
lie  and  old  age,  etc.  Price ' 15 


VOL.  XLIII. 

337  Pearl  of  Savoy 
838  Dead  Heart 

339  Ten  Nights  in  a Bar- room 

340  Dumb  Boy  of  Manchester 

341  Belphegor  the  Mountebank 

342  Cricket  on  the  Hearth 

343  Printer’s  Devil 

344  Meg’s  Diversion 


VOL.  XLIV. 

345  Drunkard's  Doom 

346  Chimney  Corner 
847  Fifteen  Y ears  of  a Drunk- 

348  No  Thoroughfare  fard’s 

349  Peep  O’ Day  I Life 

350  Everybody’s  Friend 
Hamlet,  in  Three  Acts 
Guttle  & Gulpit 

^ c. 

MASSEY’S  EXHIBITION  RECITER 
AND  DRAWING-ROOM  ENTER- 
TAINMENTS. Being  choice  Recitations  in 
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adapted  for  the  use  of  Schools  and  Families.  Two 

numbers per  number,  80 

The  two  numbers,  bound  in  cloth,  School  style — 76 
THE  OLIO;  or  Speaker’s  Companion.  A col- 
lection of  Recitations  in  Prose  and  Verse,  Dia- 
logues and  Burlesques,  compiled  for  the  use  of 
Schools,  Thespian  Societies,  etc.,  and  for  Public 
Declamation  or  Reading.  In  three  parts. . . each,  1 5 
DRAMAS  FOR  THE  DRAWING- 
ROOM. By  Miss  EeaYing.  Two  parts,  each,  40 
PLAYS  FOR  THE  PARLOR.  By  Miss 

Keating.  Two  parts each,  40 

ACTING  CHARADES.  By  Miss  Picker- 
ing  40 

COMIC  DRAMAS,  for  College,  Camp,  or  Cabin 

(Male  Characters  only),  four  parts each,  40 

DRAMAS  FOR  BOYS  (Male  Characters  only), 

by  Miss  Keating. 40 

HOME  PLAYS  FOR  LADIES  (Female 
Characters  only),  complete  is  three  parts.. . . each,  40 
AN  EVENING’S  ENTERTAINMENT, 
an  original  Comedy,  a Burlesque  and  Faroe 4 (> 


THE  ETHIOPIAN  DRAMA. 


(NEW  SERIES.) 


and  Jinks 
Number 
jdy’s  Coat 
Paris 
of  Dickens 
Die  Bull 

st  Tragedy  of  All 

t Make- Airs 
ud  Cox 
»pa 

1 States  Mail 
oopers 
ad' s Cabin 
ival  Lovers 
tiam  Doctor 
Millers 

ins  and  his  Dinah 
uack  Doctor 
ystic  Spell 
lack  Statue 
Jeff 

ischievous  Nigger 
lack  Shoemaker 


NO. 

8 Tom  and  Jr^'ry,  and  Who’; 

been  Here 

9 No  Tator,  or  Man  Fish 

10  Who  Stc’.e  the  Chickens 

11  Upper  T en  Thousand 

12  Rip  Van  Winkle 


NO. 

13  Ten  Days  in  the  Tombe 

14  Two  Pompeys 

15  Running  the  Blooktde 

16  Jeemes  the  Poet 

17  Intelligence  Offioe 

18  Echo  Band 


NO. 

18  Deserters 

20  Deaf  as  a Post 

21  Dead  Alive 

22  Cousin  Joe’s  Visit 

23  Boarding  School 

24  Academy  of  Stars 


NO. 

17  The  Magic  Penny 

18  The  Wreck  [ny  Cupids 

19  OhHushI  or  The  Virgin- 

20  The  Portrait  Painter 

21  The  Hop  of  Fashion 

22  Bone  Squash 

23  The  Virginia  Mummy 

24  Thieves  at  the  Mill 

25  Comedy  of  Errors 

26  Les  Miserables 

27  New  Year’s  Calls 

28  Troublesome  Servant 

29  Great  Arrival 

30  Rooms  to  Let 

31  Black  Crook  Burlesque 

32  Ticket  Taker 


NO. 

33  Hypochondriac 

34  William  Tell 
.35  Rose  Dale  ’ 

30  Feast 

87  Fenian  Spy 

38  Jack’s  the  Ltd 

39  Othello 

40  Camille 

41  Nobody’s  Son 

42  Sports  on  a Lark 

43  Actor  and  Singer 

44  Shylock 

45  Quarrelsome  Servants 

46  Haunted  House 

47  NoCure,-NoPay 


NO. 

48  Fighting  for  the  Union 

49  Hamlet  the  Dainty 

50  Corsican  Twins 

51  Deaf— in  a Horn 

52  Challenge  Dance 

53  De  Trouble  begins  at  Nine 

54  Scenes  at  Gurney’s 

55  16,000  Y ears  Ago 

50  Stage-  struck  Darkey 

57  Black  Mail  [Clothes 

58  Highest  Price  for  Oid 

59  Howls  from  the  Owl  Train 
^W-pid  Honks 

61  The  Three  Black  Smiths 

62  Turkeys  in  Season 


Tony  Denier’s  Parlor  Pantomimes.— In  Ten  Parts,  25  Cte.  each. 


A Memoir  of  the  Author.  By  Sylvester 
r.  Esq.  How  to  Express  the  Yarious 
•NS,  Actions,  etc.  The  Four  Lovers  ; or, 
rales’  Rendezvous.  The  Frisky  CobbIjER  ; 
Rival  Artisans. 

—The  Rise  and  Progress  of  Pantomime. 
3HOOI.MASTER  ; or  the  School  in  an  Uproar. 
OF  Madrid;  or,  a Muleteer’s  Bride.  La 
E Blanche  ; or.  The  Lovers’  Stratagem. 

I.— M.  Dechalumeau;  or,  The  Birthday 
The  Demon  Lover;  or,  The  Frightened 
. Robert  Macaire  ; or,  Les  Deux  Fugitifs. 

.—Jocko,  the  Brazilian  Ape;  or.  The 
ivous  Monkey.  The  Conscript  ; or.  How  to 
he  Draft.  The  Magio  Flute  ; or,  The  Ma- 
s Spell. 

r 


No.  V.— The  Vivandiere  ; or,  The  Daughter  of  the 
Regiment.  Dame  Trot  and  her  Comical  Cat  ; 
or.  The  Misfortunes  of  Johnny  Greene. 

No.  VI.— Godenski  ; or.  The  Skaters  of  Wilnau. 
The  Enchanted  Horn  ; or,  The  Witches’  Gift. 

No.  VII.— The  Soldier  for  Love  ; or,.  A Hero  In 
Spite  of  Himself.  Simeon’s  Mishaps;  or,  The 
Hungarian  Rendezvous. 

No.  VIII.— The  Village  Ghost;  or.  Love  and 
Murder  both  Found  Out.  The  Fairies'  Frolic; 
or,  The  Good  Wife's  Three  Wishes. 

No.  IX,— The  Rose  of  Sharon;  or.  The  Unlucky 
Fisherman.  Pongo,  the  Intelligent  Ape,  and 
the  Unfortunate  Overseer. 

No.  X.— Mons  Toupet,  the  Dancing  Barber  ; 
or,  Love  and  Lather.  VoL  Au  Vent  and  the 
Millers;  or,  A Night’s  Adventures. 


Samuel  French,  Publisher, 

le  above  sent  by  Mall  or  Express,  on  receipt  of  price.  122  Nassau  Street  (TJp  StaIES). 


4 


FRENCH’S  MINOR  DRAMA.! 


Price  15  Cents  each.— Bound  Volumes 


VOL.  I. 

1 The  Irish  Attornej 

2 Boots  at  the  Swan 

3 How  to  pay  the  Rent 

4 The  Loan  of  a Lover 

5 The  Dead  Shot 

6 His  Last  Legs 

7 The  Invisible  Prince 

8 The  Golden  Parmer 

VOL.  II. 

9 Pride  of  the  Market 

10  Used  Up 

11  The  Irish  Tutor 

12  The  Barrack  Boom 

13  Luke  the  Laborer 

14  Beauty  and  the  Beast 

15  St.  PaVfick’s  Eve 

16  Captain  of  the  Watch 

VOL.  III. 

17  The  Secret  I pers 

18  White  Horse  of  the.  Pep- 

19  The  Jacobite 
80  The  Bottle 
il  Box  and  Cox 
£2  Bamboozling 

Widow's  Victim 
C Robert  Macaire 
_VOL,  IV. 

25  Secret  Service 

26  Omnibus 

27  Irish  Lion 

28  JT  Wd  of  Croissy 
291^  Old  Guard 

30  Raising  the  W ind 

31  Slasher  and  Crashei* 

32  Naval  Engagements 

VOL.  V. 

S3  Cocknies  in  California 

34  Who  Speaks  First 

35  Bombastes  Furioso 

36  Macbeth  Traveatie 

37  Irish  Ambassador 

38  Delicate  Groutid 

39  The  Weathercock  [Gold 

40  All  that  Glitters  is  Not 

VOL.  VI. 

4 \ Grimshaw,  Bagshaw  and 
Bradshaw 

41  Rough  Diamond  . 

43  Bloomer  Costume 

44  Two  Bonnycastles 
0 Born  to  Good  Luck 
f Kiss  in  the  Dark  [jurer 
t 'Twould  Puzzle  a Con- 
46  Kill  or  Cure 


VOL.  X.  VOL.  XIX. 

73  Ireland  and  Amenca  145  Columbus 

74  Pretty  Piece  of  Buciness,  146  Harlequin  Bluebeard 

75  Irish  Broom-maker  jl47  Ladies  at  Home 

76  To  Paris  and  Back  forjl48  Phenomenon  in  a Smock 


Five  Pound! 

77  That  Blessed  Baby 

78  Our  G..I 

79  Swiss  Cottage 

80  Young  Widow 

VOL.  XI. 

81  O’Flannigan  and  the  Fa- 

82  Irish  Post  [ries 

83  My  Neighbor'  Wife 

84  Irish  Tiger 

85  P . P . , or  Man  and  Tiger 

86  To  Oblige  Benson 

87  State  Secrets 

88  Irish  Yankee 

VOL.  XII. 

89  A Good  Fellow 

90  Cherry  and  Pair  Star 

91  Gale  Breezely 

92  Our  Jemimy 

93  MiUer'i  Maid 

94  Awkward  Arrival 

95  Crossing  the  Line 

96  Conjugal  Lesson 

VOL.  XIII. 

97  My  Wife’s  Mirror 
~~  Life  in  New  York 
99  Middy  Ashore 

100  Crown  Prince 

101  Tv  0 Queens 

102  Thumping  Legacy 


Frock 

149  Comedy  and  Tragedy 

1150  Opposite  Neighbors 

1151  Dutchman's  Ghost 

152  Persecuted  Dutchman 
VOL.  XX, 

153  Musard  Ball 

154  Great  Tragic  Revival 

155  High  Low  Jack  & Game 

156  A Gentleman  from  ^re- 

157  Tom  and  Jerry  'land 

158  Village  Lawyer 

159  Captain’s  not  A-miss 


VOL.  VII. 

49  Box  and  Cox  Married  and 

50  St.  Cupid  {Settled 

51  Go-to-bed  Tom 
62  The  Lawyers 

53  Jack  Sheppard 

54  The  Toodles 

65  The  Mobcap 

66  Ladies  Beware 


VOL.  VIII. 

57  Morning  Call 

58  Popping  the  Question 

59  Deaf  as  a Po.st  . 

60  New  Footman 

.61  Pleasant  Neighbor 

62  Paddy  the  Piper 

63  Brian  O’ Linn  - 

64  Irish  Assurance 


VOL.  IX 
65  Temptation 
. 66  Paddy  Carey 
; 67  Two  Gregories 
! 63  King  Charming 
j 69  Po-ca-hon-tas 
■ 70  Clockmaker’s  Hat 
; 71  Married  Rake 
72  Love  and  Murder 


(VOL.  XXXVII. 

289  All  the  World’i  ^ Stage 
290  Quash,  or  Nigger  Practice 
291  Turc  Him  Out 

1292  Pretty  Oirls  of  Stiflberg 
293  Angelof  the  Attic 
294  Circumstances  alter  ’'-‘t 
295  Katty  O'Shea  1 
296  A Supper  in  Dixie 


VOL.  XXVIl 

217  Crinoline  i 

218  A Family  Failibi 

219  Adopted  Child 

220  Turned  Heads 

221  A Match  in  the 

222  Advice  to  HusT 

223  Siamese  Twins 

224  Sent  to  the  To' 


VOL.  XXIX 

225  Somebody  Elseffii 

226  Ladies'  Battle  , 

227  Ai-t  of  Acting 

228  The  Lady  of  the>]f 

229  The  Rights  of 

230  My  Husband's  « 

231  Two  Can  Play^| 
Game 


103  Unfinished  Gentleman 

104  House  Dog 
VOL.  XIV. 

105  The  Demon  Lover 

106  Matrimony 

107  In  and  Out  of  Place 

108  I Dine  with  My  Mother 
r"  Hi-a-wa-tha 

110  Andy  Blake 

111  Love  in ’76  ^ties 

112  Romance  under  Difficul- 
VOL.  XV. 

113  One  Coat  for  2 Suits 

114  A Decided  Case 

115  Daughter  [nority 

116  No ; or,  the  Glorious  Mi- 

117  Coroner’s  Inquisition 

118  Love  in  Humble  Life 

119  Family  Jars 

120  Personation' 

VOL.  XVI. 

121  Children  in  the  Wood 

122  Winning  a Husband 

123  Day  after  the  Fair 

124  Make  Your  Wills 

125  Rendezvous 

126  My  Wife’s  Husband 

127  Monsieur  Tonson 

128  Illustrious  Stranger 
VOL.  XVII 

129  Mischief-Making  [Mines 

130  A Live  Woman  in  the 

131  The  Corsair 

132  Shylock 

133  Spoiled  Child 

134  Evil  Eye 

135  Nothing  to  Nurse 
13G  Wanted  a Wid.-^w 

VOL.  XVIII. 

137  Lottery  Ticket 

138  Fortune’s  Frolic 

139  Is  he  Jealous? 

140  Married  Bachelor 

141  Husband  at  Sight 

142  Irishman  in  London 

143  Animal  Magnetism 

144  Highways  and  By-Ways 
VOL.  XXXVIII, 

Ici  on  Parle  Francais 
Who  KiUed  Cock  RoMb 
^ Declaration  of  IndepeadhOM 
^ Heads  or  Tail* 


160  Amateurs  and  Actors 
VOL.  XXI. 

161  Promotion  [ual 

162  A Fascinating  Individ- 

163  Mrs.  Caudle 

164  Shakspeare’s  Dream 

165  Neptune’s  Defeat 

166  Lady  ©f  Bedchamber 

167  Take  Care  of  Little 

168  Irish  Widow  ( Charley 
VOL.  XXII. 

169  Yankee  Peddlar 

170  Hiram  Hireout 

171  Double-Bedded 

172  The  Drama  Defended 

173  Vermont  Wool  Dealer 

174  Ebenezer  Venture  [ter 

175  Principles  from  Charac- 

176  Lady  of  the  Lake  (Trav) 

VOL.  XXIII. 

177  Mad  Dogs 

178  Barney  the  Baron 

179  Swiss  Swains 

180  Bachelor’s  Bedroom 

181  A Roland  for  an  Oliver 

182  More  Blunders  than  One 

183  Dumb  Belle 

184  Limerick  Boy 

VOL.  XXIV. 

185  Nature  and  Philosophy 

186  Teddy  the  Tiler 

187  Spectre  Bridgroom 

188  Matteo  Falcone 

189  Jenny  Lind 

190  Two  Buzzards 

191  Happy^Man 

192  Betsy  Baker 
VOL.  XXV. 

193  No.  1 Round  the  Corner 

194  Teddy  Roe 

195  Object  of  Interest 

196  My  Fellow  Clerk 

197  Bengal  Tiger 

198  Laughing  Hyena 

199  The  Victor  Vanquished 

200  Our  Wife 
VOL.  XXVI. 

201  My  Husband’s  Mirror 

202  Yankee  Land. 

203  Norab  Creina  ^ 

204  Good  for  Nothing 

205  The  First  Night 

206  The  Eton  Boy 
^207  Wandering  Minstrel 

208  Wanted,  1000  Milliners 
VOL.  XXVIl. 

209  Poor  Piicoddy 

210  The  Mummy 

211  Don’tf  orgetyonrOperal 

213  ASthoJy^aSaeopatra  I ^ 

214  Trying  It  On.  Jo^ng  Actre- 


232  Fighting  by  Pr( 
VOL.  XXS 
Unprotected  Fm 
234  Pet  of  the  Pettg 
285  Forty  and  Fifw 

236  Who  Stole  the-[| 

237  My  Son  Diana  < 

238  Unwarrantable  ? 
■239  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wlj 
240  A Quiet  Family 

VOL.  XXIW 
24:  Cool  CucunilU 
•2*2  Sudden  Thoughl 

243  Jumbo  Jum  ^ 

244  A Blighted  Beixn 

245  Little  Toddlekinl 

246  A Lover  by  Prdx 

247  Maid  -with  the  >. 

248  Perplexing  Predi 
VOL.  XXXIj 

249  Dr.  Dilworth  , 

250  Out  to  Nurse  . < 

251  A Lucky  Hit  i 

252  The  Dowager  j 

253  Metamora  (Biqi 

254  Dreams  of  Del« 

255  The  Shaker  Lflj 

256  Ticklish  Timed 
VOL.  XXXlfj 

257  20  Minutes:  witl 

258  Miralda:  or,  thi 

of  Tacon  . ; 

259  A Soldier's  Cd) 

. Servants  by  L® 

261  Dying  for  Love  ♦ 

262  Alarming  Sacirfi 


263  Valet  de'Sbau^ 

- :ki 


264  Nicholas  Nickli 
VOL.  xxxn 

265  The  Last  of  the ! 

266  King  Rene’s  D| 

267  The  Grotto  Nya 

268  A Devilish  Gojj 
A Twice  Told  f 

270  Pas  de  FascinS 

271  Revol-utionarjf 

272  AManWithouj 
VOL.  XXX5 

273  The  Olio,  Pa  ' 

274  The  Olio,  Pari 

275  The  Olio,  Parf 

276  The  Trumpet? 

277  Seeing  Warrel 

278  Green  Mountt 

279  That  Nose 

280  Tom  Noddy’s  | 
VOL.  XXXIi 

'Glasses! 281  Shocking  Ev* 

‘ ' 282  A Regular  Fif 

283  Dick  TurpiBf 


214  Trying  I 

VOL.  XXXIX. 

106  •iiK)  VaA*r  Good  Nature.  806  Care  for  the  I 

thit  CotHT  stntfrtt  hy  mail,  on  receipt^ 


Obstinate  Family 
My  Aunt 
That  Rascal  Pat 


Don  Paddy  de  Bazan 


Anything  oi 


New  and  explicit  Descriptive  List  mailed  free  oR 
SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Pnblirfier,  122  Nassau  S 


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